


The Phantom of the Opera

by Kellyscams



Series: The Phantom of the Opera [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Phantom of the Opera, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Tragedy, Bittersweet Ending, Blackmail, Child Abuse, Christine!Steve, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, I promise, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Non-Graphic Smut, Past Character Death, Period Typical Attitudes, Phantom!Bucky, Tragic Romance, Violence, basically phantom of the opera, but they do talk in song lyric, i have not changed it, if you don't know the ending it's beautifully tragic, if you haven't seen phantom and want to without spoilers this will spoil it, if you've seen phantom you know the ending, none of the main characters die, raoul!sam, with stucky and stam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheltered from the outside world in an underground cavern, the lonely, romantic Phantom of the Opera tutors and sings for Steve, a lonely orphan child taken in by the Opera House. As the years go on, the mysterious Phantom becomes Steve closest friend. When the Opera House falls under new ownership, Steve is given the chance to rise as a star, and as a handsome suitor from his past enters the picture, the Phantom grows mad, terrorizing the opera house owners and company with his murderous ways. </p><p>Still, Steve finds himself drawn to the mysterious man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this was not a thing that was ever meant to happen. seriously. this only started because _someone_ said something about stucky!phantom and it was a thing I already thought about. All I set out to do was make a photoset on tumblr and then give a summary of a fic that I might write in the future. Well, that summary turned into this. 
> 
> So, it's not fully my normal style and there's a lot of telling over showing in some parts and all the songs from the movie have been shifted to dialogue so it's cheesy and campy but, hey, I had fun with it. I'm hoping that posting this will take some of the self-inflicted pressure to get something up and I can clear my head to work on Aint No Rest for the Wicked. 
> 
> The whole thing _is_ finished ((in fact I wrote it all in 6 days during Nano, oops lol)), but I'm going to post it in 2 parts like the two Acts of the show itself. 
> 
> So, without further adieu, I present to you Act I of The Phantom of the Opera. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**

Act I

**

  
**

Paris, 1919

**

_Count Samuel Wilson approaches the Opera House. Falling apart by the years that took its youth and the fire that took its bones; the building is just a former shell of the glory it once was. A mirror of the body that now holds Sam’s soul._

_An auction takes place today. To sell off what remains of the Opera House. To make way for the new. Sam’s old bones shake as he goes up the steps. He’s not sure he can make it. Not sure he can do it. But he has to. He made a promise. One he cannot -- will not -- break._

_Ash and soot have blackened the once bright and vibrant colors that filled the theater. Gone are the deep shades of reds. No longer are the golds glowing softly in the light. The faces of the cherubic art have disappeared. Everything is blackened. All the light is gone._

_The auctioneer has just given away an old prop. Sam doesn’t know what from. All he can pay attention to now is what’s being put on display._

_“Lot 665,” the auctioneer announces. “A stuffed bear with a pull-string music box found hidden deep within the vaults of the theater. Still in working order.” He pulls on the string in the bear’s back. Demonstrates that it still works by letting the soft music play. “May we start the opening bid at 20 francs?”_

_Sam raises a gloved hand. The auctioneer acknowledges his bid and asks for another. Which he gets. Horror slinks in through Sam’s stomach. Who could possibly bid on that? Who else could want it? He searches the crowd and spots his competition. And he understands._

_She’s aged with grace. Hair faded, but still red. Her eyes catch his as he puts his hand up to put in another bid. She makes another. So does Sam. He watches her as the auctioneer asks for another and then waits for a response. And waits... She shakes her head and concedes to Sam with a slight nod of her head._

_“Sold!” the auctioneer announces. “To the Count Wilson. Thank you, sir.”_

_The item is brought to him and Sam holds it gently in his hands. It’s exactly how he pictured it. Soft to the touch. Brown fur. Black button eyes. Blue and red coat over its small body. A cymbal in each hand._

Every detail, exactly as he said, _he thinks._ All these years and you’re still here. Will you still play when all the rest of us are dead? 

_“Lot 666 then, a chandelier in pieces,” the auctioneer says. Sam looks at the pile covered by a large, dirty sheet. His stomach twists. “Some of you may recall, the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera, a mystery never fully explained. We’re told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier that took part in that very disaster. Our workshops have repaired it and wired parts of it with the new electric lighting. Perhaps we can frighten away the ghosts of so many years ago with a little illumination. Gentlemen?”_

_The sheet is pulled off and sparks shoot out of the glass and copper pipes of the broken chandelier as it’s switched on. No ghosts are chased away. Not for Sam. They’re in the walls. In the floor. In his heart._

_With Steve._

***

**

Paris, 1870

**

After the death of his mother, Sarah, a famous, Irish musician, 10-year-old Steve Rogers is taken in by the famous Opera House in Paris, France. Alone and frightened, Steve finds himself lost in a brand new world of theater and dance with no one to turn to for comfort. None of the other boys living at the dormitories want him for a friend and the staff is only interested in teaching and instructing. There’s food and shelter and care, but no affection. No one to hold his hand when his chest aches or his fevers spike or to chase bad dreams away. And Steve feels as though he lives only in nightmares. Ripped away from the only life he ever knew. Beloved mother who played songs from him on the piano, sang for him, taught him to be strong, gone from the world forever. 

Since Steve is so small and needs medicines and gets special food to keep him healthy, the boys take to picking on him and anyone else who might dare to have been born different. Steve fights back. Fights for others. And, oftentimes, ends up on the losing side. Fat lips and black eyes and bloody noses, and _always_ on the receiving end of a lecture and even occasionally a striking for being in _another_ fight. 

Steve holds back his tears. Won’t let anyone see them. Until he can fight them off no longer and hides in a dark hallway in the blackness of night. Scared and alone. Hugging his knees tightly to his chest and weeping softly. 

“Mama,” he whimpers to no one. “Mama, please. Come back.”

He misses her. Misses his mother and his home so far away. His best friend who he barely even got a chance to say goodbye to. Nobody wants him. Nobody cares about the sickly, little orphan boy. He has nothing left of his mother. Only the words she used to sing to him.

“I see the moon and the moon sees me,” Steve tries to sing through his tears. “God bless the moon…” He sucks in a jagged breath. “And God… and God bless me. I know an Angel watches over me. God bless the Angel and… and God bless me…”

Steve buries his face in his knees. Wishing if he just folds up small enough he’ll just disappear into the night. When his mother was dying, she promised she’d send him an angel to watch over him. No angel as come. And Steve is alone

But it’s on this night, that Steve hears the voice. 

“Don’t cry, child,” it murmurs. 

The boys often try to scare Steve with stories of the ghost that roams through the walls of the Opera House. A disfigured, ghoulish creature that will suck out his soul if he hears him sing.

“Who… who’s there?” Steve whispers. He quickly stands and holds up his fists. “Don’t… don’t come near me.”

“I won’t harm you,” he answers. A voice that comes from everywhere and nowhere. “I can help you. You can learn to be lonely. You can learn to find your way in darkness.”

Steve feels his face crumples. He cannot hide his tears from the one who owns this voice. They fall freely to be seen.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Steve whimpers. “Will you be my friend?”

There’s a pause before, “Go back to bed, sweet child. You might catch cold.”

Wiping his face clean with the back of his hand, Steve nods. He cannot argue. He feels that truth deep in his bones.

“Will you come with me?”

He doesn’t get an answer to that, but when Steve climbs into bed and curls into a tight ball, he hears the voice again. This time, it sings to him. A soft lullaby that soothes him into the deepest sleep he’s had since his mother died.

In the morning, Steve cannot recall if he dreamed the voice or not, but eagerly awaits the dead of night to find out. Once again, Steve visits his lonely corner and this time just sits. Waits until he’s nearly half asleep, head against the wall, arms pinned tightly across his chest for warmth. Until at least, he comes.

“You should be in bed, sweet child.”

Steve smiles. “You came back.”

“I never left.”

After that night, Steve sneaks out of bed whenever possible. There’s nothing else for him now; only the strange voice that speaks to him through the walls late at night for company. This voice confuses him, but talks with him, teaches him, makes him smile, and, what Steve loves most, sings him to sleep. 

Convinced the voice belongs to the angel his dying mother promised to send him, Steve spends countless hours draped in shadows and nighttime whispers to talk to his mysterious angel. Who sings like the heavens and talks like the gods -- who Steve refers to only as his Angel of Music.

It is his Angel of Music that comforts him when Steve cries in his bed alone at night, mad at the other boys and missing his mother. His angel tells him to be brave. That he can’t bring his mother back, but the boys will stop. 

Which they do. One by one the boys slowly start to leave Steve alone. So much so that they even appear afraid to say or do anything that might upset him. 

“You… you didn’t hurt them, did you?” Steve whispers one cold, winter’s night. Up late with a fever and cough. An ache rattling around in his lungs. 

Steve doesn’t want to be picked on and doesn’t want others to be picked on even more than that, but he doesn’t want anyone to be hurt either.

There’s a pause before his angel says, “They shall bother you no longer.” Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. It scares him. Sometimes, Steve feels frightened of his angel. Ever present but never seen. Voice both chilling and calming. His presence both peaceful and threatening. “Sleep now. You need your strength.”

Coughing into his thin handkerchief, Steve settles into the bed of the private sick room and pulls the covers all around him. The mattress is lumpy and the blankets are scratchy, and Steve has trouble falling asleep on the best of nights.

“Will you sing to me, angel?”

He does. He always does. 

It’s true that the Angel of Music sometimes frightens Steve. Because sometimes, the Angel of Music gets angry with him. Sometimes he loses his patience with him. Sometimes he feels dangerous. But the Angel of Music sings to Steve. He teaches him. Protects him. And, somehow, becomes Steve’s closest friend during the darkest times of Steve’s life. 

Ten years later, Monsieur Phillips -- current owner of the Opera House -- interrupts the rehearsal for that night’s show to make the announcement that the theater has been sold to up-and-coming entrepreneurs, Tony Stark and his partner James “Rhodey” Rhodes.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of their recent success in the junk business,” Monsieur Phillips says.

Tony laughs and says, “Scrap metal, actually.”

“And we are pleased and honored to introduce our new patron,” Rhodey announces. “The Count Samuel Wilson.”

Among the cast and crew there is Steve, who has never had much care for the politics and managings of the Opera House. But when he hears the name of the new patron, he’s instantly turning away from the backdrop he’s been painting to see him walk out onto the stage with the two new managers.

“Do you know him?” one of the dancers asks. Natasha Romanov, head dancer. The only person he can count as a friend. Well, one that he can see and touch. 

“It’s Sam,” he whispers. A smile touching his lips. “Before my mother died, at our house back home… I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts.” Steve nibbles on his lip. “He used to call me Little Stevie.”

They used to do everything together, even though Sam is three years older than him. Sam would call on him almost every afternoon. And as long as Steve wasn’t sick, they would spend the day together. Mother used to call them inseparable. Steve used to fancy the dream of marrying Sam. A child’s dream, but still his. One Steve thought was lost forever when his mother died. Just another piece of his shattered life. But Sam is here now. Right out on the stage saying how pleased he and his family is to be able to support the famous Opera House. 

“My parents and I are always honored to support all the arts,” Sam says. Voice just as earnest and genuine as Steve remembers. “Especially, the world renown Opera Populaire.” 

As Sam gives his introduction, Gilmore Hodge, the Opera House’s leading star steps forward as if he’s welcoming Sam and the new managers. Most of the cast and crew clap when Monsieur Phillips tells Sam who Hodge is. Steve rolls his eyes as Hodge holds his hand out for Sam -- who takes it to shake like a gentleman should. Hodge is only interested in fame and attention. He’s always hated Steve.

“An honor, sir,” Sam comments politely after the applause of Hodge’s introduction dies down. “I believe I’m keeping you from your rehearsal. I shall be here this evening to share in your great triumph.” He adds one last thing to the conductor, “My apologies, Monsieur.”

“Thank you, sir!” he replies as Sam makes his way across the stage. Heading right towards Steve.

Steve starts to smile, even begins to lift his hand in greeting. Only Sam walks by, and doesn’t even glance at him. Steve tries not to feel hurt, but hurt comes anyway. A dark cloud that passes over him. 

“He wouldn’t recognize me,” he whispers to Natasha.

“He didn’t see you,” she says.

Once Sam is gone and the maestro begins again, Natasha -- as head dancer -- asks Tony and Rhodey if they wouldn’t mind stepping to the side so the dancers have the room they need to rehearse. Natasha tells them they take particular pride in the excellence of their ballet.

“I can see why,” Tony remarks. “Look at that little blonde one.”

Steve holds in a snort as he turns back to his work. Ignoring the rehearsal going on, especially when Hodge’s starts complaining that all his new managers care about is the dancers. In an attempt to prove that’s not the case, they ask him to perform a solo from tonight’s act for them. Hodge, with a fake smile of utter humbleness, agrees. But as he’s singing, the backdrop behind him suddenly falls from its position and lands over Hodge. 

Though it does knock Hodge over, Steve knows that particular drop wouldn’t cause any injuries. He looks up at the rafters above the stage and tries not to chuckle as everyone else scrambles about. Whispering worries of the Phantom of the Opera. The entire cast and crew have been plagued by eerie occurrences they place blame on their very own opera ghost. What started off as small pranks that could easily be explained away by mistakes -- a prop being moved or sets being changed overnight -- have recently grown to somewhat dangerous and disruptive happenings. The cast is convinced that the Phantom is responsible for all the mishaps that go on. But no one’s ever been hurt. Even though he can sometimes be frightening as his presence hovers everywhere, Steve doesn’t think his angel will hurt anyone. He hopes. 

“Buquet!” Monsieur Phillips barks. “For God’s sake, what’s going on up there?”

The stage manager, Joseph Buquet, swears there is no one else up in the rafters and if there was, it must have been a ghost. He’s often trying to scare everyone with tales of the Opera Ghost -- even when Steve was a child -- swearing that he’s come face to face with him in the past and that he’s grotesque and hideous with his twisted and deformed body. Steve hates when the stage manager tells such stories. Not only did people used to call him deformed before he grew into his body, but they’re all speaking of his angel when they say things like that. And Steve knows more than anyone that appearance never dictates a person’s worth or value. He and Joseph have gotten into many’a squabble over the years. 

“Monsieur,” Tony says to Hodge as he tries to calm everything down. “These things do happen.”

Hodge’s face is still red with anger, and flushed with embarrassment. 

“For the past three years these things happen!” he yells. “And did _you_ stop these things from happening?” He points to Monsieur Phillips. “No! And you two are as bad as him.” Hodge huffs and lifts his chin. “Until you stop these things from happening, _this_ thing does not happen!”

Spinning on his heels, Hodge storms off. Monsieur Phillips wishes the new managers luck and tells them if they need anything that he’ll be in Australia. 

“Monsieur Hodge, he… will be back, won’t he?” Rhodey questions.

“You think so, Monsieur?” Natasha asks as she approaches them with an envelope in her hand. “I have a letter here, from the Opera Ghost.”

“Oh, God in Heaven,” he sighs. “You’re all obsessed. 

There’s a smirk pursed on Natasha’s lips as she ignores the comments and goes on to read the message. Steve’s angel often goes through Natasha to pass messages along. He’s never learned why.

“He welcomes you to his opera house…”

“ _His_ opera house?” Tony exclaims. 

“...And instructs that you are to leave Box Five--” She points to the luxury box to the right of the theater “--empty, for his use. And reminds you that his salary is due.”

“His _salary_?” Rhodey huffs.

“Yes.” Natasha flicks her hair over her shoulder. She watches Tony and Rhodey carefully. “Monsieur Phillips used to pay him twenty thousand francs a month.”

“Twenty _thousand_?” Tony shouts. “Well it matters not, does it?” He rips the letter in half twice. “We’ll have to cancel anyway since it seems we’ve lost our star!”

Not believing in any ghost or phantom, Tony ignores any of their superstitions and declares they will run the theater in the way he and Rhodey see fit. Tony and Rhodey refuse to listen to the demands of any “opera ghost” and try to figure out what they’re going to do now that they’ve lost the star of tonight’s scheduled performance.

“Steven Rogers can do it,” Natasha suggests. 

Steve, covered in paint and sawdust from fixing sets, is shocked to hear his name come up at all let alone for such a reason. He turns and stares at them as the new managers reject the idea.

“A chorus boy who fixes sets?” Tony grumbles. “You can’t be serious.”

But Natasha assures them that he’s a great dancer, that _she’s_ taught him and that he’s had a great music teacher. 

“He has been well taught,” she says.

When they ask him who’s taught him to sing, Steve can only reply with, “I don’t know his name, Monsieurs.”

Because he doesn’t. After all these years, Steve knows the voice that sings him to sleep and feels a presence when he’s alone, but has no name. No face. Only tokens of affection from his angel of music. His intriguing, yet frightening friend who stirs strange, intense emotions within Steve’s heart. Emotions which Steve doesn’t know whether to embrace or to fear. 

“Let him sing for you,” Natasha tells them. “He has been well trained.”

“Very well,” Tony sighs. “What other choice do we have?”

Bashful and nervous, Steve slips his hat off his head and tries to clean himself off a bit as he steps up to the front of the stage. The conductor instructs him on where to begin and raises his baton. Steve opens his mouth and starts to sing. He’s quiet at first, stomach filled with knots and butterflies and he’s well aware that he’s not making a good impression on his new managers.

“Tony, this is doing nothing for my nerves.”

“At least he good looking,” Tony comments.

Taking a glance at Natasha, Steve sees her grin and nod her head. The encouragement is enough to get him to sing stronger and louder, and soon Steve is smiling as he is no longer afraid. Despite the audience and the judgement, all that matters to him now is the music. 

Tony and Rhodey offer him the part and Steve’s performance that night is an incredible success. He’s met with a standing ovation and requests for an encore. Watching from Box Five is Sam, who, upon seeing Steve perform, recognizes him and is just as moved by him as everyone else. Excited to reunite with his old friend, Sam immediately heads for Steve’s dressing room as soon as the play is over. 

As the new managers celebrate the success of tonight’s show with the cast and crew, Steve has gone down to the chapel in the Opera House to light a candle for his mother. As he’s down there, alone with his thoughts and prayers he hopes his beloved mother may hear whispers of, a voice reaches his ears. Puts ice in his veins and fire in his heart. 

“Bravo...” it murmurs. Steve’s eyes fall closed at the sound of it. The strange pull at his heart makes him grin softly at the approval. “Bravo. _Bravissimo_.” 

“Steve?”

Steve’s eyes fly open to see Natasha walking towards him, and congratulates him on his successful show.

“Where in the world have you been hiding?” she asks. “Really, you were perfect. You shouldn’t be alone in all your success,” she tells him. Looks around the chapel as though expecting someone else to be there with Steve. “Come away from here.”

As she guides him back up to his dressing room, Steve admits to her that he believes that his mother sent him the angel that’s been coaching him. 

“Natasha, when they brought me here to live in the Opera House, whenever I was alone, there was a voice from up above and all around, even in my dreams. He was always there.” Steve presses a hand to Natasha's back. To feel a bit of companionship. “My mother told me she would send me an angel to protect me. An angel of music.”

“Steve… do… do you believe a spirit your mother sent has been coaching you?”

“Who else, Nat? Who?” Steve lets Natasha take his arm and loop it softly with hers as they go back upstairs. “Mother once spoke of an angel. I used to dream he’d appear. Now as I speak I can sense him, and I know he’s near. Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside hiding. Somehow I know, he’s always with me. He, the unseen genius. He’s with me even now,” Steve says. “All around.” He looks at her when Natasha touches his chin. Steve whispers, “It frightens me.”

“Don’t be frighten,” Natasha comforts. “He won’t hurt you.”

Ever since they met, Natasha’s had a way of speaking to Steve of his angel as though she understands more about him than Steve ever could. Steve’s learned not to question her. 

Back in his dressing room, Steve plops down on a chair and declares now that he cannot believe he’s just done that. Natasha smiles and tells him he did wonderfully. From on the vanity, Natasha picks up a token left there from him. A single red rose with a black ribbon tied around it. 

“He is pleased with you,” she says as she hands it to him.

A smile pulls up on Steve’s lips as he takes the rose. Slips his fingers along the soft satin of the bow. This he knows. It’s a gift. He’s been receiving them ever since he was little. When the Angel of Music is pleased. 

There’s a knock on the door and Natasha answers it for Steve, assuming it’s going to be an admirer looking for a moment of Steve’s attention only to find their new patron there instead. With a bouquet of roses. She welcomes Sam in and leaves to give them privacy. 

“Count Wilson,” Steve greets with a proper bow. Unsure if Sam is there as a new patron or an old friend.

“Count Wilson?” He chuckles. “Does Count Wilson go where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake?” Chest inflating with excitement, Steve tries to hold back his gasp. “Where there lies a leafy island, where flapping herons wake?”

Unable to contain his smiles, Steve recites the next part of the poem they used to say when they were children.

“The drowsy water-rats; There we've hid our faery vat.” Steve’s eyes sparkle. “Sam. You remember.”

“Of course I do. Little Stevie,” Sam replies as he enters the room and places the flowers on the vanity. Steve blushes. It’s been so long since he’s heard that. It still makes him smile inside. “I remember picnics in the attics.”

“And chocolates?”

Sam grins as he approaches. “As we read to each other dark stories of the North.”

“Mother on the piano.”

“You singing like an angel,” Sam says. He pulls Steve in for a hug. “This day still. You sang like an angel tonight, Steve. Like your mother.”

Nothing could be more pleasing. His mother. How he misses her. If only she could have been here tonight. Or through all these years. Steve’s felt such darkness since then. Glimpses of happiness that glimmer like the start of a new day coming only when thinking about his mother. Or when speaking with the Angel of Music. At least, when his mood is gracious. 

“Mother said, _when I am in heaven, child, I will send you an angel of music._ My mother is dead, Sam.” Sam’s eyes lower in sympathy and old mourning. “And I _have_ been visited by the Angel of Music.”

“Oh, no doubt of it.” Sam touches Steve’s cheek gently. His touch is so warm. Something Steve hasn’t felt in over a decade. And it… it feels so _right_. “It’s been so long. How I’ve missed you. You’ve grown some.”

Steve blushes and nods. It’s been ten years since he’s seen Sam and the last Sam saw of him he was a small, skinny child. He’s grown so much that he’s now about an inch taller than Sam and working in the theater has helped him build up muscle.

“We used to race across the field behind your house,” Sam says. “Do you remember that?”

The field of wildflowers. Bursts of yellow like drops of sun that landed upon the Earth’s soft grass. They used to race. Sam always won.

“Mother sent me to the corner every time.” Steve chuckles. Remember his mother’s lectures and worries about his heavy breathing when his lungs refused to cooperate. But he still never turned down Sam’s challenge. He flicks his gaze at Sam now. “I believe I can beat you in a footrace now.”

“Is that right, Monsieur Rogers?” Sam teases. Steve grins and nods. “Well, we shall have to test this belief of yours. See if your opinion rings true. And if we find it is, I encourage you to remember that _I_ know the _best_ spots to tickle you.”

Sam’s fingers land just at Steve’s ribs and, though it is quite improper behavior of two gentlemen not even courting, wiggle into his sides. And although it is quite undignified of him, Steve yelps a giggle as his body squirms to get away. Sam laughs and stops. Looks at Steve with a warm smile on his face. Steve remembers this. Remembers the sweet taste of laughter on his tongue and to be touched by warmth. To look at someone and _feel_ so close to them. Light has eluded him for so long. Steve’s forgotten what it was like to feel it pass through him. He remembers now. And he likes it. 

They spend the early evening together in Steve’s dressing room. Reminiscing and catching up though it feels that not a day has gone by. Steve finds himself drawn to Sam just as he was when he was but a child and moves to sit in even closer to him. Drawn to him like the first piece of warmth after a long, cold winter. Sam doesn’t seem to mind. He even puts an arm around him. Steve puts a hand on his knee. Touches. Connections. Steve doesn’t want it to end. 

“We waste the night away in here,” Sam says when Steve’s stomach growls. “Come! We shall go to supper! Dress, Little Stevie.” Steve blushes again. “I’ll return for you.”

The invitation makes Steve giddy as a school boy. Supper with Sam. How exciting. Unless…

Steve glances around. Realizing only now, that he’s been so preoccupied and drawn in by Sam and hasn’t paid any attention to whether or not they were truly alone. Sam wants to take him to supper. Steve’s not sure if he should go. 

“Wait...” Steve stops him. “I... I shouldn’t.”

“Why not? Are you not well?”

“No, it’s... the Angel of Music is very strict. He won’t want me to.”

Believing Steve to be joking, Sam kisses his cheek and tells him he’ll be right back. He leaves, and Steve finds himself alone. He knows his angel won’t like it if he goes, but Steve _does_ want to accompany Sam and so he begins to dress. As he does, the candles in the room begin to flicker and Steve can feel that he is no longer alone. The candles start to go out, one by one, when his angel speaks to him.

“Insolent _fool_ , that spoiled brat,” he berates. Rough and hard. “Basking in _your_ glory.” His voice echoes through the whole room. Touches Steve’s soul and quakes through him. “Ignorant fool, this brave young suitor, sharing in _my_ triumph.” 

Steve is dressed to go to dinner. To meet with Sam, his friend from so many years ago who makes his heart flutter and palms sweaty. And yet all he knows now is this voice. Angry, but so calming to Steve. His Angel of Music has come to him. 

“Angel of Music,” Steve whispers. “Speak to me, and I’ll listen. Stay by my side, guide me. Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me. Please, come out to me, angel.”

“Flattering child, you shall know me. See why in shadows I hide. Look at your face in the mirror, I am there inside.”

Steve does look at the mirror. All he sees his himself. Shrouded in the dark shadows that whisper along his body until a face emerges in the reflection over Steve’s shoulder. Steve spins around and slams back into the mirror. In front of him now is his Angel of Music. The Phantom of the Opera. He’s dressed all in black. Clothes baggy and not showing the curves of his body. Even a thick, heavy cloak that drapes mostly over his left side, where he keeps his left arm drawn under and hidden out of sight.

He’s angry with Steve for going to leave. Lips set in a line and steely eyes that stare out at Steve. Pulse beating hard and heavy through his veins, Steve can’t feel the fear he knows is there somewhere. The Phantom of the Opera is as stunning as he is frightening.  
There’s a knock at the door and a shout of Steve’s name as it’s rattled and refuses to open. Locked. Keeping Sam on the other side despite his great effort to get in. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve knows Sam is out there waiting for him. Maybe even worried for him. But in here, right now, Steve is consumed by the Phantom, and when his right hand is held out for him, Steve lifts his own... and takes it.  
Feels for the first time, the confirmation that his angel is real. In front of him. In sleep he sang to Steve. In Steve’s dreams, he came. That voice, which for years, has called to him. And still speaks his name. Those who have seen him near have always drawn back in fear. Steve might be the mask he wears, but it’s _he_ they hear. 

The Phantom pushes against the mirror behind Steve to reveal a secret passageway. He leads Steve down several dark and winding stone corridors. And though Steve turns from him, to glance behind, the Phantom of the Opera is there. Always. Inside his mind.  
Steve is aware that it might be wise to may attention, but all he can do is stare at the Phantom as he leads him further and further down into the pits of the Opera House. Every time he looks back at him, Steve feels his body tighten even more. And in this labyrinth, where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is there. Always. Inside his mind. 

Eventually, Steve is taken to what must be the Phantom’s bedroom. The bowels of the Opera House, where the dirty river flows through -- they need to take a boat to cross from one side to the other -- and daylight cannot reach. Mist. There’s mist snaking over the water and ground. Everything is made of stone, and there are items scattered everywhere. There are props and costumes and instruments. Mannequins and spinning wheels. Cranks and levers that probably control whatever all the ropes that are strung all across the place are attached to. Several candelabras, all with lit candles that provide the soft glow down there. Piles and piles of books are scattered across the entire room. So many. Thick and thin, and new and old. On the far end of the stone floor is an organ against the wall. Upon it, is sheet music that, Steve thinks, contains an opera still being written. 

It’s silent for a long while. Steve just stands there, mystified, while the Phantom stares at him from a chair in the middle of the room. Steve doesn’t know what to do so he just ends up looking at the Phantom and saying, “Hi.” The Phantom smirks but says nothing. So Steve goes on to say, “I’m Steve.” That smirk deepens and the Phantom speaks.

“I know,” he murmurs. 

“What... What’s your name?”

That, he doesn’t answer.

“Are you an angel?” Steve asks.

“My dear boy,” the Phantom says. “If there are angels, I am the furthest thing from one.”

A hard lump forms in Steve’s throat. There’s a cold, hard look in his eyes. He means that. That’s all the Phantom says about it, but he does talk to Steve even though Steve ends up doing most of the talking.

“My mother used to bake me apple cake. It was my favorite.” “Her voice was like magic and I loved to sit and watch her for hours on the piano.” “I used to think she was a princess. When she first died, I pretended that an evil wizard kidnapped me and brought me here and that she would come to rescue me.” The Phantom must know that already. He probably saw the games Steve played by himself when he first arrived at the Opera House and no one spared him a passing glance. “She took care of me through every illness. I almost died of pneumonia and scarlet fever when I was a younger.” Twice of pneumonia. The Phantom saw the second bout. Was with Steve the whole time. Steve felt him there and heard his voice singing to him even through fever soaked nightmares. Telling him to be strong. Demanding that he stay with him. “I was hopeless when I first started dancing. Two left feet. Natasha is a good teacher.” He didn’t meet Natasha until they were 13 and the boys and girls were allowed to learn together. He was very lucky to meet her. The one person he finally felt even a spark of friendship with. Someone face to face. Natasha, he’s always been sure, has secrets and losses of her own. ”I love to paint the sets. Hopefully to bring the audience to the place the actors do.”

“You do,” the Phantom replies to that. “Even more so when you sing.”

Steve blushes and goes right on babbling because the Phantom allows him to do so without stopping him or thinking him rude or a fool. He answers Steve’s questions about the items in the room. 

“What does this do?” “What is this called?” “What is this book about?” “Did you read _all_ of these?”

“Yes,” is the answer to that. “Several times. They keep me company.”

Every time Steve asks about _him_ though, the conversation is deflected back on Steve. Steve does notice, however, that the Phantom pays very close attention to him as he talks. As Steve goes on and on and the Phantom sweetly listens and answers politely, Steve gradually gets closer to him. Drawn to him like a moth to the flame, ready to be burned alive. The closer he gets, the closer he just _needs_ to be to him. Steve attempts to move discreetly as he doesn’t know if it’s acceptable for him to get close. He tries to pay more attention to the items he continues to ask questions about. Impossible. His eyes shift towards the Phantom over and over. Silently seeking permission to get nearer to him. Until it’s granted when the Phantom smirks softly and holds his hand out. Grateful for such an opportunity, Steve slips his fingers between the Phantom’s and stands right by him. 

He also notices that, although he doesn’t seem to mind Steve walking around and poking through some of his things or standing with him, the Phantom always shifts his position so that Steve remains on his right side. 

“Bucky,” the Phantom whispers after Steve continues talking for some time. 

“Excuse me?”

“You may call me Bucky.”

Steve smiles, honored that he’s been given a name for which to call his Angel of Music -- Phantom or not. 

“Bucky?” Steve’s ended up on the floor in front of Bucky. Head pressed gently against Bucky’s knee, while Bucky strokes his right hand through Steve’s hair. “Why do you stay down here? Why not come up to the daylight?”

When Bucky’s hand freezes mid-stroke, Steve worries he’s upset him again. He lifts his head to apologize for his question. But Bucky looks at him as though he’s deciding whether or not he cares to answer this question. So Steve remains silent. Just waits.

“Nighttime sharpens and heightens each sensation,” Bucky murmurs after several moments. “Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently your senses will abandon _all_ defenses.” 

Steve thinks on that for a minute. Could it be true? That he could just let go and be free if he just lived his life in darkness and nighttime? It wouldn’t be all that much of a change. After all, even with the sun rising and setting on each day, Steve’s felt trapped in an endless night since his mother died. Would it be that difficult to let go and just leave the light behind?

“But, Bucky... what about all the wonders of the day? Life and sunlight?”

Taking Steve’s hand, Bucky stands and helps Steve to his feet. He steers Steve so that he still remains on his right and then gestures out to the vast space before them. Shadows that splash the walls. The soft glow of the candles’ flames dancing through the air. It even twinkles off the river water. Like a star-studded sky they stand above.

“Give it time,” Bucky says. “Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendor. _Grasp_ it.” He makes a fist. “Sense it -- tremulous and tender.”

Both shadows and candlelight lick at Bucky’s face. Twisting around him to make a mask of both chaos and peace. Of horror and beauty. Steve marvels at the sight, unable to tear his eyes away. Bucky’s not wrong. The night trembles around them in unwavering brilliance. Still… Steve remembers the warm touch of his mother taking his hand in hers. How the sun filled her hair on a warm summer’s afternoon. She had been life and light and all things beautiful to him. In a time of day. Not night. And Steve looks back the way they came in. To the way that will lead him out of here. Back to a place where light exists.

“But...”

“Turn your face away…” Bucky slips fingers under Steve’s chin to turn his gaze off the way out. “From the garish light of day. It will _lie_ to you. \ _Deceive_ you. Turn your thoughts away from cold, _unfeeling_ light. And listen to the _music_ of the night.”

In a world that doesn’t stop just because light ceases. A symphony of moonlight and stardust. Those notes and melodies from someplace inside Steve he never knew existed. The music of the night. He’s so entranced by Bucky. Bewitched by his grace and beauty and mystery. His _brilliance_. 

“Close your eyes,” Bucky instructs, and Steve does so without hesitation. With all the trust in the world. “Surrender to your _darkest_ dreams.” Steve’s eyes begin to open. He’s spent so long without a face to go with his angel. He wants to look upon him now always. “Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before.” Bucky lets his fingers graze over Steve’s eyes to close them again. “ _Close your eyes_. Let your spirit start... to _soar_.” Steve keeps his eyes closed this time. Bucky doesn’t want him to open them. For that, Steve’s rewarded. Bucky moves around him and steps up so close behind him that Steve can feel his body pressed against his own. Even more when Bucky’s arm pulls him in. So close, Steve swears he can feel his _heartbeat_. Bucky’s lips brush Steve’s ear when he whispers, “And you will live as you’ve _never_ lived before.”

Steve leans back against Bucky. The air beats hot and tempting around them. Steve nibbles on his lip as Bucky’s hand moves almost teasingly across his chest and up to Steve’s throat. Wrapping around and closing. Keeps Steve pinned to where he is. Steve gasps and rolls his head back. Exposes his throat to whatever Bucky might want to do with it. Maybe a mouth across it. Maybe a blade. Either is fine with Steve so long as it’s Bucky delivering. His whole body tingles with their closeness as Bucky trails his lips down Steve’s neck without ever kissing. Steve’s breathing becomes heavy. 

“Open up your mind,” Bucky murmurs. Steve can feel the vibrations of his throat. He whimpers at their touch. “Let your fantasies unwind.” His hot breath glides over Steve’s collarbone. “You know this is a darkness you cannot fight.” Bucky rolls his hips into him. The sudden shock of it releases the groan stuck in Steve’s throat. “The darkness of the music of the night.”

“More…” Steve whispers in a voice deep and throaty. Rising out from a deep, dark place inside of him where all his darkest fantasies sleep. All of Steve’s muscles curl around his bones. Grow taut and burn. 

Hand slipping away from Steve’s throat, Bucky runs it down his chest again and then lets it sneak gently under his shirt. The touch of his skin trapped with Steve under the thin fabric of clothing makes Steve’s lip quiver. 

“Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world.” Bucky’s teeth graze Steve’s earlobe. Steve pushes back into him. Needing so much more. “Leave behind all the thoughts of the world you knew before. You don’t need them.” Steve doesn’t know what’s happening to him. All he can do is feel. There is no thinking here, wherever Bucky’s taken him. There are only the sensations that pump through him now. Steve would try to fight them. These temptations of a most immoral nature. But for the first time in Steve’s life, he finds no fight in him. Only surrender. “Let your soul take you where you long to be.” Fingernails rake across Steve’s skin. He gasps and draws in a deep, sensual breath. “Only _then_ ,” Bucky whispers. “Can you belong to _me_.”  
Yes. Him. Everything that is Steve is his. His voice. His mind. His body. His soul. Here, everything belongs to Bucky. And Steve will happily be his humble servant.

“Give your mind up to the floating,” Bucky hums. _Floating_. Away to a place Steve never dreamed possible. Where night touches everything and he can stand before its grandeur and kneel before it in awe. “Feel yourself falling. The sweet intoxication of it.” Fingertips move across Steve’s chest. Between the curves of his muscles and along the bumps of his ribs. His chest rises and falls so quickly. His mind spins. “ _Touch_ me.” His hand raises to Bucky’s face. Cups over his cheek firm and unyielding as more pleasure shoots through him. He must never displease his angel. “ _Trust_ me,” Bucky whispers. Lets the tip of his tongue skim the sensitive skin over Steve’s Adam’s apple. “Savour each sensation.”

Steve is shaking. Tremors that run through his body with each gentle touch the Phantom of the Opera graces him with. He grows hot. A fire lighting in the pit of his belly. The rush of flames consuming him in this place of everlasting darkness. 

“Bucky…” The name falls gently from Steve’s lips. Gently, but needy. Steve needs more of him. _All_ of him. Needs Bucky to make him _his_ lest Steve succumb to nothingness right here. Steve needs to be taken. Right here. Right now. “Please…”

Heat trembles through his body as Bucky pushes his hips into him. Steve presses back. Lets only instinct and sheer, unadulterated want control his actions. His breath is pulled from his lungs. Faster and harder. Bucky’s hand snakes down below Steve’s waist. Palm grabbing hold and rubbing. Steve holds in a jubilant cry. Bucky hisses in his ear.

“Let the dream _begin_ ,” he growls. Displeased at Steve holding back. “Let your darker side _give in_.” He bites down between neck and shoulder. This time, Steve can’t hold in his cry. He releases it into the night, and Bucky’s hand continues to rub. More and more. Steve’s knees begin to shake. The fire in his belly burns hot. Scorches. Liquid gold pumping through with each beat of his heart. “Give yourself to me. To the power of the music that I write…” It rolls up Steve’s spine. He lets everything go at the sound of Bucky’s voice. Pleasure spiking and Steve powerless to stop it. “The power of the music of the night.”

Steve’s knees buckle as it hits. He can feel his body plummeting down to the stone ground beneath him. He never hits though. Bucky’s arm wraps around him again and keeps him from falling. He lets Steve rest his weight against him as he guides him over to his bed. Lays Steve down upon it and gently pulls at the drawstrings of Steve’s pants. 

Body still shaking in the glow of the aftermath, Steve thinks belatedly to help since Bucky seems insistent on doing everything without the assistance of his left hand. He lifts his hips as Bucky slowly slips his trousers down for him and then runs a warm cloth over him. Cleaning Steve. Tender and sweet. Attentive. Eyes so focused on what he’s doing. Hands so carefully gentle. 

Exhaustion has become Steve’s friend and enemy. Made its way into his bones and refuses to leave though Steve tries to make it. Bucky covers him with a blanket and rises again. Takes hold of the rope to drawn the sheer curtains around the bed closed. He’s going to leave.

“Wait…” Steve whispers in whatever weak voice he has left. Holds a hand out to him. “Stay…”

Bucky looks at him as though perplexed by the request. And then his eyes flick to the empty side of the bed. Which, if Bucky were to indulge Steve and stay, places Steve on his left. So Steve argues with exhaustion. Makes it listen for just a moment so that he can shift in a position more suitable to Bucky’s requirements. When he does that, Bucky moves around to the proper side of the bed and slips under the covers with him.

Once he’s there, Steve, without first making sure it’s acceptable, folds into him. Snuggles against him to hear the beating of his heart. Feel the rise and fall of his breathing. To feel close to him. Near him. He thinks only after moving that it might upset his angel. Only it doesn’t. Bucky shifts enough to accommodate for Steve’s size and then swaths his arm over him. Keeps Steve there. Close. 

The rhythm beneath Steve has him drifting off in moments. The last thing he hears is Bucky’s soft voice. Singing this time. Singing Steve to sleep as he’s done for years.

“You alone can make my song take flight.” Steve can feel the ghost of a kiss that’s pressed into his hair just as sleep takes him. “Help me make my music of the night.”

When he wakes a few hours later, he’s sure everything has been a dream. He remembers there was mist. Swirling mist upon a vast, glassy lake. There were candles all around and in their glow there was a man. Who was that shape in the shadows? Whose is the face in the night? Steve flies up in the bed that’s not his own. What has he done? How could he have let last night happen? What was he thinking? He tries to still his breathing as vicious fear stabs at his heart. Until he notices the stuffed bear on the pillow next to him. It’s plain; just a simple child’s toy, but Steve’s always thought it was beautiful. A bear dressed in a blue and red coat with soft brown fur, and black, button eyes. The bear is holding a pair of cymbals. Steve used to find it on his bed some nights when he was a child whenever he was sad. He held it close to his chest when he slept. It was always gone again in the morning. It plays music, too. Steve sits up and holds the bear between his hands. Pulls the string to make the soft music play. He brings its arms together so that the cymbals touch and smiles when they make a small sound. Bringing the bear up to his nose, he sniffs it and breathes in his angel’s sent. Hugs it to his chest. So calming. 

Bucky is over by the organ, where he, Steve thinks, is composing. Without thinking, Steve grins and gets up to go over to him. Approaches him on the left. Bucky’s eyes are closed as though he’s deep in thought, and Steve places a hand on his left shoulder, accidentally making the cloak covering him fall to the floor, which reveals what he’s been trying to hide. 

His left arm is missing from mid-forearm down. All the skin from his shoulder down -- Steve can see tell through the fine shirt Bucky’s wearing that it’s all the way down to his hip -- is distorted and warped and discolored, and looks like it might have been burned at some time, and the second it’s exposed, Bucky shoots out of his seat. 

“ _Damn_ you!” he screams. Enraged. Using his one arm to shove Steve away hard enough that he trips over his own feet and falls. “Is this what you wanted to see?!” he yells, jabbing a finger at his left side. Steve looks away. Not because of what he sees on Bucky’s body. Because of what he sees _inside_ of Bucky. Pure rage. Bucky’s fingers curl into Steve’s hair. Force his head to look back at him again. “This is what you wanted to see, isn’t it?” 

“Bucky…” Steve whimpers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“You _lying_ little demon!” Bucky shoves him away again. Keeps on screaming as he flings things about the room. “Don’t you understand what you’ve _done_? Now you cannot _ever_ be free! _Curse_ you! You can never escape this nightmare now that you’ve seen!”

Storming back over to him, Bucky’s arm flies up like he means to crack the back of his hand across Steve’s face. Steve just freezes. His body won’t move the way it normally would. To fight back. Defend himself. Do _something_. But he can’t. Not when the hand raised to him belongs to the Angel of Music. 

Throughout the years, Steve has experienced many different things while speaking in secret shadows to his Angel of Music. Confusion. Peace. Contentment. Passion. Fright. Tension. Loneliness. Companionship. But for the first time ever, Steve feels real _fear_. Real, genuine fear for his own safety. Because he’s… because he’s _afraid_ of Bucky. Steve is afraid of the fury that’s so easily taken over the man who was so gentle with him last night. The crazed look that’s taken hold of Bucky erases all traces of the sweet, enchanting man who listened to Steve and politely indulged him all night long. Gone is the brilliance and creativity and genius. There now’s nothing but sheer wrath and viciousness. Steve’s angel, who’s anything but. All that’s left is the Phantom of the Opera.

Until Bucky looks him in the eye and sees the fear he’s caused. His own eyes go wide like he’s just been ripped from the most terrifying nightmare and his fingers curl in as he slowly lowers his arm. He’s trembling and his mouth make a feeble attempt to form a word before he tears himself away to go back over to the organ. He hovers over it, right hand propped on it. 

Not knowing what else to do, Steve picks himself up off the ground. His heart begins to settle as he cautiously steps towards Bucky.

“It’s stranger than you dreamt is, isn’t it?” Bucky whispers. “Can you even dare to look or even bear to… _think_ of me. Me, this _loathsome_ gargoyle who _burns_ in hell but secretly yearns for…” His voice drops below that whisper. “Heaven.” 

Right behind him now, Steve make the wise choice to step to Bucky’s right. Moves next to him and almost places a hand on his arm. But it trembles, and Steve pulls it away. 

“Bucky…”

“Fear can turn to love.” His voice cracks. Bucky goes to look at Steve, but doesn’t. Not fully. “It can. You’ll _see_.” He sounds so lost now. So desperate. “You can find the man behind the monster. The man behind this… this _repulsive_ carcass just seems a beast, but secretly dreams of… of beauty.” His eyes lift though Steve doubts he sees what’s in front of him. Bucky looks at something far away and forgotten by others. “Secretly…” 

This is all wrong. Everything Bucky feels about himself -- a loathsome gargoyle, a repulsive carcass -- Steve has… felt about _himself_. For different reasons, yes, but Steve understands. Nothing he says, even if the words came to mind, will help. He can tell Bucky that he’s not those things. He can tell him that he’s beautiful. He can tell him none of it matters anyway because Steve _does_ see the man inside. Or, at least, he thought he did.

No, trying to do any of that won’t help. Not now. Maybe not ever. Instead, Steve reaches down to pick up the cloak he made fall. He rises again and slowly hands it back to Bucky.

Bucky, looking at Steve with an apology in his eyes, takes it gently and slings it back over the left half of his body. Once again hiding himself from Steve and the world, but Steve sees so much more in those eyes. He can see in Bucky now more emotion that he’s ever seen in anyone. There’s passion and hope and desire all shadowed by pain and anguish. Most of all, loneliness. That’s something Steve can understand. Steve wishes he could hug his Angel, though he’s sure he wouldn’t like that. But then Bucky takes a deep breath, and his face clears of emotion. Steve, though, knows he just got a glimpse of the rose behind the thorns. 

“Come,” Bucky whispers. “We must return. Those two _fools_ who run my theater will be missing you.”

 

In that, Bucky is right. Though the reviews of last night’s performance have been positive, there are also reports of mystery now that Steve is missing, and both Tony and Rhodey have received notes; Tony’s claiming the writer to be satisfied with Steve’s performance and happy about Hodge leaving, and Rhodey’s reminding him that a salary is due and that orders are better to be followed. Both notes are signed O.G. and they realize, irritated, that they’ve come from the Opera Ghost.

Sam, who’s been frantically looking for Steve all night, returns to the theater to demand of Tony and Rhodey the reason why they’ve sent him a note saying that he needn’t fear for Steve, the Angel of Music has him under his wing, and Sam should never attempt to see Steve again. Both Tony and Rhodey deny having sent the note and conclude that the Phantom has. Hodge comes back, furious with Sam and under the assumption that Sam’s sent the note _he_ received saying his days at the Opera House were numbered. Sam insists he did nothing of the sort.

Natasha comes in and tells them all that Steve has returned. Tony and Rhodey ask about his well being and where he is. Wanting to be alone, Steve has locked himself in his room and Sam asks Natasha if he can go see him. She tells him no, that he needs to rest and doesn’t want to see anyone. She also has a note which says that Monsieur Rogers will be singing on behalf of Hodge for the next show and Hodge will take the role of the page boy. That Steve’s new role _calls for grace and appeal, while the page boy is silent, which makes the new casting, in a word, ideal_. The note also reminds them that they have been sent several messages of a most amiable nature detailing how _my theater is to be run_. The Phantom again warns them to keep Box Five open for his viewing and this time says if they don’t do as they’ve been instructed a disaster beyond their wildest imaginations will occur. 

Hodge accuses Steve of sleeping with Sam to further his career. While Tony and Rhodey believe this as well, neither of them care as long as it doesn’t cost them money. Fearing that it might, they make the decision that Hodge will be in the lead for the next production. Worried about Steve’s reputation, Sam doesn’t argue about it.

As planned, Hodge takes the lead while Steve is given the silent role. Steve doesn’t tell anyone about his time with Bucky, about their Phantom of the Opera, claiming he simply needed time to be alone with his thoughts. He might not be an expert in areas of deceit, but he seems to be believed. Rehearsals go on for two weeks, during which time, Steve spends his days rehearsing with Natasha and the cast, his evenings bonding with Sam, and his nights waiting for Bucky. But Bucky never comes. Not even the night before the new play opens.

The theater fills again. Every seat taken. After the last show’s rumors of scandal, everyone is anxious to attend a night at the Opera House. Promising to be at every one of Steve’s shows, Sam keeps his word and comes. Taking the seat in Box Five. 

As usual, Hodge takes up as much of the stage and attention as possible. Natasha dances like a work of art. And Steve dutifully performs his silent role. In the middle of the production, a voice echos harsh and loud throughout the theater. 

“Did I not _instruct_ ,” it shouts. “That _Box Five_ was to be kept _empty_?”

Startling the whole place, the show pauses and everyone starts looking around trying to find the source from their spots below. 

“He’s here,” Steve whispers excitedly. 

“Your part is _silent_ , little toad,” Hodge growls. 

“A toad, Monsieur?” Bucky mumbles to himself from his secret spot high above the balcony. “Perhaps it is _you_ who are the toad.”

As Hodge pushes his way through the cast, he moves off stage to take a drink before making his way back and demanding that they pick up again with his solo. They attempt to, but, to Hodge’s horror, every time he tries to reach a certain note, his voice croaks due to something Bucky’s put in his drink.  
Panicked and frantic, he runs off stage as Tony and Rhodey request that if everyone would just be patient, the play will be continuing with Steve as the lead. They ask that the dancers perform the ballet from a later act to keep their guests entertained. Everyone begins to rush around trying to make the necessary changes, while Joseph Buquet takes to the rafters in an attempt to find the Phantom.

The stage manager climbs over the planks and under ropes. Chasing down any glimpse of a moving shadow he can see in the hopes of finally catching the Opera Ghost.

Natasha goes with Steve to help him change into his new costume. In the dressing room -- that has been filled with flowers and gifts for Hodge to appease him after what happened -- is one, single rose on the seat by the vanity. This one with a black ribbon tied around it. Steve holds it tightly as Natasha helps him dress. 

Back in the theater, while the dancers try to quickly perform their ballet, and the musicians try to keep up with the sudden change, and props and sets are being switched out, a body falls from the rafters. The audience screams. The dancers scream. The cast, crew, and managers scream. Joseph Buquet hangs dead with a rope wrapped around his neck. Tony and Rhodey try to keep everyone calm while claiming it’s just an accident, but no one really knows for sure if this was an accident… or if it was murder. 

In all the chaos, Steve runs to find Sam -- who’s already looking for him -- and Steve isn’t sure if they’re safe. He’s seen Bucky consumed by and lost to rage. Has even been an unintentional target for it. So he takes Sam’s hand and leads him up the roof. Sam asking why he’s brought him there. It’s cold and snowing, and Steve is too overwhelmed to process anything. Joseph Buquet was not Steve’s favorite man. He wasn’t even someone Steve particularly liked. But he didn’t want to see him hurt. Now he’s dead. And Bucky might be the cause of it.

The thought of Bucky losing to his anger so completely that he could have taken Joseph’s life makes Steve dizzy and his head hurt and his stomach turn. Nothing seems to make sense any more. He thought Bucky was his friend. His angel. There had never been a Phantom of the Opera to Steve. Only the Angel of Music. Now, Steve isn’t sure which one he is. Afraid that he really doesn’t know Bucky at all, Steve doesn’t know what to think.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Sam says. Has been saying. Over and over. “He’s just a man. There is no _Phantom_ of the Opera.”

Steve looks at him and wishes he could make Sam understand. That Sam could understand his pain. Understand Bucky’s pain, even if Steve truly doesn’t himself. 

“Sam, I’ve seen him,” Steve murmurs. “That’s where I was. That night.” Steve can see the moment that settle into Sam’s bones, though Sam makes no comments on Steve’s lies. “I’ve been there. To his world of unending night.” Maybe Sam can see that Steve is talking about his own world as well. “Down to a world where daylight dissolved into darkness. Darkness, Sam. He lives in darkness.”

His lungs get tight and hot, burning with every breath he tries to take. He’s seen Bucky’s wrath. Rage enough that Steve was scared. He’s not sure he could ever forget that face. Or that fear he made him feel. But his voice... but his voice has filled Steve’s spirit with a strange, sweet sound. In the nights, there’s been music in his mind. And through music, Steve’s soul began to soar. Yet in Bucky’s eyes, Steve saw all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes, that both threaten and adore.

Sam tries to comfort him, telling Steve he’s there and no one is going to make him go anywhere except Steve himself. Steve admits that he’s felt trapped in an endless night and eternal winter since his mother died.

In Steve’s hand is still the rose that Bucky’s left for him tonight. He clutches onto it, wishing, for a moment, that it was Bucky here with him instead of Sam. Bucky understands night and winter better than even him. But then Sam gently takes his hand to pull him close. Steve looks deep into his eyes and feels so much love. Sees the sunlight that has eluded him for so long. The sunlight he’s been trying to deny has been right in front of him since Sam set foot through his door.

“No more talks of darkness,” Sam murmurs. “Forget these wide-eyed fears. You’re safe. Nothing can harm you.” He almost chuckles. “You won’t let it. Put your past behind you, Steve. You’re not meant for darkness. Let daylight dry your tears. Let me be your freedom. You will, won’t you? I can be here for you, Steve. If that is your wish. Let me warm you, Little Stevie. Please?”

Is this what Steve can have? A chance at light and life. Right here with Sam. _No more talks of darkness_. Steve can find the sun again. He just needed to know where to look.

Touched by Sam’s word and warmed by the love in his eyes, Steve lets the rose slip from his fingers. It falls into the snow to be lost and forgotten.

“Say you’ll love me every waking moment,” Steve whispers. “Turn my head with talk of summertime.” He touches Sam’s face and knows he will. “Say you need me with you now and always. Promise me that all you say is true, that's all I ask of you.”

Sam leans in and gently brushes his lips to Steve’s. Steve kisses him. Throws his arms around his neck and Sam smiles against his lips. Steve feels the warmth rush through him. He feels so alive. So lit up inside. A dream come true. A kiss of true love to warm a frozen soul. 

“Let me be your shelter.” Sam cradles the back of Steve’s head. “Let me be your light.” Steve’s heart dances at the thought. Hope pirouettes along his bones. For so long Steve has kept himself locked away. Afraid of losing everything again. And here’s Sam. Offering Steve the world and asking nothing in return. “It’s safe, I’ll never harm you. Your can put your fears behind you.”

“All I want is freedom,” Steve says. He can do this. Sam’s shown him the path to a new day. All Steve has to do is step on it. “A world with no more night.” He puts his arms around Sam and nuzzles into his side. “And you, always beside me.”

Sam holds him close and promises to take care of him. No longer does Steve need protection from the big, bad world. He hated needing it. Thought he was a monster when he was so small and sick all the time. He’s grown now. Has had physician's help him with medicines and vitamins to assist him lead a healthier life. Steve is stronger now, but Sam can still help him. Still guide him out of this endless night.

“Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime,” Sam murmurs. Gently holds Steve’s face between his big, warm hands and kisses his eyes and nose and cheeks. “Let me lead you from your solitude. Say you need me with you, here beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. Stevie, that's all I ask of you.”

Joy bursts through Steve. Oh but if this is a dream, please never let him wake. Sam wants to be with him. Take care of him. And, oddly enough, Steve wants to let him. Steve can see it. A life shared with the man who used to be the boy that Steve grew up with. Sharing picnics and chocolates and dark stories. He can have this. He doesn’t need to keep himself locked in darkness anymore. It can end. And he can find peace. 

“Say you love me.”

“I love you.” Sam grins and pets a hand over Steve’s head. “You know I do.”

Snow glistens in the moonlight. Stars twinkle happily in the sky above them. The air breathes fresh and clean around them. And Steve feels cleansed. 

“Love me,” Steve hasn’t smiled like this since he was a boy. Listening to his mother on the piano or running in the fields with Sam. He whispers, “That’s all I ask of you.”

Scooping Steve up into his arms -- which was much easier when they were children and Steve was a lot smaller -- Sam spins them around and Steve lets loose a giggle. A real, happy giggle and he can’t remember that last time he felt so light and carefree. They kiss. Again and again until Steve realizes they should get back. 

“I must go,” he sighs happily. “They’ll wonder where I am.” Steve takes hold of Steve’s hands and kisses them. “Come with me, Sam.”

“Oh, Steve.” Sam kisses Steve’s temple. “I love you.”

Steve giggles again and steals another kiss. “Order you fine horses. Be with them at the door!”

“We’ll go to supper!”

Steve says he will with another laugh. They leave the roof to go back inside. Together. 

 

The roof is still and silent as snow gently covers it. Soft flakes of snow that fall from the sky and glisten in the moonlight. After the sweet confessions of love that still whisper along the crystal filled rooftop, the air should be serene and peaceful. But it’s not. Poison fills it. Bucky’s poison.

He steps out from behind the stone statue. The old, twisted gargoyle where Bucky watched Steve give his confession of love to Sam. Bucky felt his heart shatter piece by piece with each uttered adoration, each smile, each kiss. Until it lay at his feet. Broken to nothing more that dust.

Crossing the roof, snow crunching under his feet, Bucky picks up Steve’s discarded rose. Cold and alone in the snow. Black ribbon he carefully applied to it now covered in tiny frozen crystals. Though Bucky has spent most of his life alone, he’s sure he’s never felt true loneliness till this very moment.

No one would listen. No one but Steve heard as the outcast hears. Bucky’d been shamed into solitude. Shunned by the multitude. He learned to listen. In the dark, his heart heard music and he longed to teach the world. Just to rise up and reach the world. But no one would listen. He alone could hear the music.

Then at last, a voice in the gloom seemed to cry, "I hear you; I hear your fears, your torment and your tears." Steve saw his loneliness and shared in his emptiness. No one would listen. No one but him heard as the outcast hears. 

And now, Steve’s turned deaf ears to him. 

“I gave you my music,” Bucky whispers to himself. “I helped make your song take wing. And now... oh, look how you’ve repaid me. Denied me and betrayed me.” Bucky’s throat tightens. Tears touch his eyes. “He was bound to love you. When he heard you sing... Steve...” 

Touching the rose to his face, those tears fall at the incredible loss of the only person Bucky’s ever loved. He tried. All he ever wanted was a friend. Someone to love him. He tried. He’s failed. Bucky is alone. There’s no one left for him. 

Off in the distance, voices rise up. Carried by the stone corridors of the Opera House that hold so many secrets. Not from Bucky. Not this one. Not Steve and Sam as they continue to celebrate their glorious and shared love. 

_Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime._

Bucky looks at the rose. The rose that Steve’s just tossed away. The tears dry up and Bucky’s body trembles with anger.

_Say the word and I will follow you._

It rolls over in him waves and consumes his soul until all he feels is heat and fury as his hand closes over the blossom and crushes it. Hard. Until all the petals slip away to join the dust that’s left of Bucky’s heart.

_Share each day with me. Each night, each morning._

Bucky darts to the edge of the roof and screams out to the only things left that will listen to him -- the night air and winter winds.

“You will _curse_ the day you did not do _all_ that the Phantom _ask of you_!”

**

End of Act I

**


	2. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three months after Steve and Sam's rooftop love confession, the Phantom of the Opera seems to have disappeared without a trace. 
> 
> As Paris celebrates the start of a new year, that just might change. 
> 
> And Bucky will set them all on a path that will change their lives forever.

**

Act II

**

  
**

Paris, 1871

**

Three months go by. Three months of silence. Three months of nothing. Three months with no Phantom. No Opera Ghost. No Angel. No Bucky.

There have been no notes to Tony or to Rhodey. Hodge has continued soaking up the spotlight. No one has threatened Sam. Natasha’s had nothing unusual to share. Steve has been... ignored. 

Despite Steve’s greatest efforts to reach out to Bucky, he gets no response. No whispered lullabies late at night, no one to talk to, no roses. Nothing. 

If he knew how to get back down to Bucky’s lair, he’d go himself, but he doesn’t. Not without getting lost in the stone labyrinth below the Opera House. It’s like Bucky’s disappeared. And while the others relish in this new found freedom within the Opera House, Steve feels lost. 

And betrayed. He misses Bucky. He wants him to come back. But he’s left him. 

Around his neck, Steve now wears a chain. It holds the ring Sam’s given to him. A gold claddagh ring like the one Steve’s mother used to wear. 

Steve is engaged, set to be married to Sam in the summer. But he keeps the ring tucked under his shirt. Not because he’s ashamed, but if Bucky is hurt, he doesn’t want to upset him even more. 

It’s during the Opera House’s New Year's Gala when the new managers and cast and crew are celebrating the absence of the Opera Ghost, that Steve asks Natasha if she knows who Bucky really is since she’s the only other one who doesn’t seem pleased that he’s gone. 

“I know…” Natasha sighs and murmurs. “He’s lonely. I know he’s lonely.” 

Steve’s sure she knows more than what she’s letting on, but since he can’t force it out of her, he lets it go. But Bucky is still on his mind. Forever a singing voice in his head. Until soft fingers touch his cheek. Sam. A soft, almost sad, grin touches his lips.

“My apologies, Sam,” Steve whispers. “I should not let my thoughts stray away from a good night.”

“That’s quite alright, Little Stevie.” 

Sam leans in for a kiss, quick and sweet, but Steve pulls away, and sees the hurt and confused expression on his fiance’s face. 

“No, Sam,” he whispers. “They’ll see.”

“Well then let them see,” Sam says. “It’s an engagement. Not a crime. Steve, what are you afraid of?”

“Let’s not argue, Sam. Please?”

“I won’t argue. I can only hope I’ll understand in time.”

Steve has the same hopes. That maybe, one day, Sam will understand as Steve does. That there’s more than just the two of them in Steve’s heart. That the music of the night still rivers through him like the velvet black sky. Beautiful and terrifying all at once. 

Sam tells Steve he won’t be offended if Steve would rather return to his room for the night, but Natasha reminds Steve that no matter what happened with the Phantom of the Opera, Steve still has a life to live. 

Agreeing, Steve decides to stay at the gala and dances with Sam. Determined to have a good time, Steve attempts to put Bucky out of his mind, at least for this night. Musicians play for the gala. A chorus to sing.

And they dance.

_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade. Hide your face so the world can never find you!_

Steve smiles at Sam as they glide across the dance floor, happy to relinquish the lead and let Sam move them. 

_Masquerade! Every face a different shade. Masquerade! Look around, there's another mask behind you!_

Laughter fills the hall. A buffet of merriment theirs for the taking. 

_Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads. Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!_

Sam steals a kiss in front of everyone. Steve tries to make an argument, but Sam’s right, and Steve’s head is drunk with sunshine. Let them see. It’s an engagement, not a crime. 

_Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds. Masquerade! Take your fill, let the spectacle astound you!_

There’s an explosion.

A scream.

Red smoke fades at the top of the main staircase.

And leaves the Phantom of the Opera in its wake. 

Guests scream and scatter, and Bucky leaps from his spot to the middle landing, effectively startling the panic enough that everyone freezes and stares at him. Steve doesn’t know if he should smile or frown. There’s Bucky. Right on the second level of the staircase. Steve has been waiting for him for three months. But Bucky doesn’t look right. He’s thinner and even paler and there are dark circles under his eyes. His cloak no longer fits snug and secure at his left side. It’s looser now. Like it might fall off if he moved the wrong way and expose everything he’s desperate to hide. 

And he looks... _mean_. Staring out at everyone with a taunting sneer curled up on his lips, Bucky looks mean. 

Even when he pretends to let go off all the tension in his muscles and slowly descends the stairs.

“Why so silent, good monsieurs?” he mocks. And still, his voice, Steve’s heart melts at it. Somehow, it’s still so good to hear again. “Did you think that I had left you for _good_? Have you missed me, all my _friends_.” Steve can feel a hand touch his lower back when Bucky says that. Sam. Close. Here to anchor Steve to daylight and summertime. “I do hope you have, for I’ve even brought for you a _gift_. I have written you an opera!” 

Bucky tosses a leather bound folder onto the steps, pages of Bucky’s opera spilling out. “There it is, the finished score, but _first_ , a few instructions before rehearsal starts.” He’s still coming down the stairs and stops in front of Hodge. Points a judgmental finger at him. “Monsieur Hodge must learn to _act_ , not his normal trick of _strutting_ around the stage.” He spins around to face Tony and Rhodey. Even mocks a bow. “And my managers must learn that their place is in an _office_ ” -- he glares at the two of them -- “ _not_ the arts. As for our star, Monsieur _Steven Rogers_...” 

The way Bucky says Steve’s name puts ice in Steve’s stomach. His voice is just _dripping_ with disdain. As if he’s mouth can’t wait to be rid of the name. Like he _hates_ Steve.

Bucky glances around at everyone _except_ for Steve. While Steve is sure anyone else would be grateful to not have those steel eyes bear into them, all Steve can feel is jealous of all those that Bucky _has_ looked at. He hates this. Hates this feeling. Hates this tension, and just wants Bucky to come back to him. 

“No doubt he’ll do his best.” Bucky’s _taunting_ him now. Steve’s sure of it. “It’s true, his voice is good, he knows, though should he wish to excel, he has much still to learn if pride will let him return to me. His teacher...” Bucky’s getting closer and closer to the bottom of the stairs. Closer to Steve, who can’t take his eyes off him. “His teacher...”

They catch eyes then. And something changes. When Bucky finally looks at Steve, some of that mean, taunting expression starts to melt away. He looks at Steve the way Steve feels about him. Like he’s missed him. So much. Steve needs to be near him. He takes a step forward and Bucky moves down another step. Once Steve is in front of the stairs -- he steps up the first two -- while Bucky comes down a few more to meet him. 

Everything has disappeared. The air pulses around them like a heartbeat. Alive. _Electric_. Buzzing through Steve and making his body tingle. A soft smile teases his lips. He can’t help it. He’s _happy_ to see Bucky. And Bucky, he thinks, is happy to see him. His hand even reaches out and fingertips gently brush along Steve’s cheek. Bucky’s expression softens even further. Until his eyes trail down and land upon the ring hanging around Steve’s neck. 

Bucky crushes his jaw and everything cruel and vicious about him charges back to the surface as he snatches at the ring and rips it away from Steve.

“Your chains are still _mine_!” he growls. “You belong to _me_!”

The second Bucky’s arm sprang forward, Sam charged. He draws his sword and attempts to engage Bucky in a fight. But Bucky outmaneuvers him and escapes through a trap door in the floor. And Sam leaps in after him. 

Sam ends up in a dark and dismal room with no light or way out. There’s nothing. Only darkness and emptiness. The silence is deafening. Until he hears someone speak.

“He isn’t _yours_ ,” the Phantom hisses. 

“Neither does he belong to you,” Sam replies to the blackness. “But if it was his wish to be with you, I would see him off with a broken heart and a smile. His happiness is all the matters.”

“I can make him happy,” he growls. Voice coming from a new direction and getting Sam to spin around in blinding darkness. “I can teach him. Guide him. He does not _need_ your fancy clothes or your riches. He’s perfect the way he is.”

Something strange begins to happen. Sam is trapped. Lost in some pit of a room buried deep within the Opera House. He’s afraid, fighting for Steve, and yet, the more the Phantom speaks, the more oddly at peace he feels. 

It’s his voice. Though the demon is unseen, the voice he speaks in is that of an angel's, and through his fear, Sam can find peace and understanding. Understanding, that where Steve's darkness turned any bit bearable, started with this voice.

“In that we agree, sir,” Sam says. “I have no desire to change him. I love Steve the way he is. I always have.”

He receives no answer to that. Instead, a door opens to Sam’s right and the room floods with illumination. In the doorway, stands Natasha. 

“Mademoiselle Romanov,” Sam huffs as Natasha leads him away from the secret room.

“Please, Monsieur,” she answers with flick of her hair. “I know no more than you.”

“That’s not true!” Sam shouts. “Please, Natasha! I need to know! I can’t let him hurt Steve!”

“He won’t,” she states.

“Not even of heart?”

Sighing, Natasha guides him to a private room and agrees to tell him the story of the Phantom of the Opera. 

“I was very young,” she begins, “when I first came to live at the Opera House with my mother and study to be a ballerina. That first winter, a circus came through the city…”

With it, was a show of “freaks and oddities” -- a place where people could gawk and laugh at those different than them. People born too small or too large. People covered all in hair or none at all. People who could barely lift a finger or who could bend their body in every which way. Their prize attraction? “The Devil’s Child”, a boy about twelve or thirteen kept locked in a cage. 

When Natasha first lays eyes on him, he’s thin and filthy -- dirt caked on his face and matted in his hair -- as he sits on the floor of his dirty cage. He shivers. The only clothing on the top half of his body is an itchy, burlap sack, which just covers his life side. He’s playing with a stuffed bear and holding it with his one visible arm as though it’s the only treasure he has in the world. He ignores the crowd. Acts like they’re not even there. Not until the ringmaster steps into the cage with him. 

“Take off your covering,” the ringmaster instructs. “Let them all gaze upon your form in disgust and horror.” 

The little boy cowers away and clutches the bear to his chest. He whimpers and shakes his head. Which only makes the ringmaster march over to snatch him hard by the hair. He jerks the boy up, making the stuffed bear fall from his hands, and begins to beat him with a thick, wooden rod. There’re already cuts and bruises over the boy’s body, but the ringmaster shows him no mercy, not even when he cries out and pleads with him to stop. He doesn’t stop. Not until he’s satisfied and he lets the boy drop back down to the ground in a trembling heap. The ringmaster rips the sack away to reveal what’s underneath. 

All the people around Natasha gasp and hiss and begin to throw things into the cage as the ringmaster once again hoists the boy back up so that everyone can get a better view of more than half the arm that’s missing and the strange way his skin twist around his body in discolored shades and burns. From the top of his shoulder all the way down to his hip.

“Not even the fires of _hell_ would take this one,” the ringmaster tells them. “Spit him out to wreak havoc upon _us_!”

The boy squeezes his eyes closed -- though Natasha swears a few tears slip out -- and turns his head away from the crowd as much as his neck will allow. As though he can somehow make the world disappear if he wishes hard enough.

Six-year-old Natasha doesn’t think this is fair. The little boy was just trying to play with his toy. And where are his parents to keep him clean and give him food? He looks so cold. Why doesn’t he have any blankets?

None of her questions can be answered. The show is over. Everyone is leaving. Natasha lingers behind everyone. She needs to get back to the dormitories of the Opera House before anyone notices she’s missing, but she drags her feet, an uneasy pit in her belly. In the cage, the ringmaster has taken to picking up the coins that have been tossed in. His licking his yellow teeth and wiping his hands over his dirty pants and stuffing the coins in a cloth purse.

And behind him, the little boy cracks the wooden rod he used to beat him right across the back of his head.

The ringmaster’s body seizes and then topples over. Blood oozing out of the wound on his head and soaking into the dirt. The boy just stands there, staring at the body before his eyes go wide. He peers at the rod still clutched in his hand and drops it like it’s burned him. The boy touches at his neck. Natasha knows why. It’ll be the gallows for him if he’s caught here. The boy glances around frantically and spots the keys to his iron door sitting on a wooden barrel right next to his cage. He reaches between the bars... and his fingers just miss the reach. The boy whimpers and cries and tries to squeeze through the bars even more. Tries so hard just to get the keys because if he doesn’t, they’ll arrest him and hang him for murder. It doesn’t matter if the ringmaster beat him over and over, this boy has committed murder. 

And Natasha doesn’t think that’s fair. So she hands him the ring of keys. The boy jerks away when he sees her there, falling flat on his behind. He looks frightened of her and Natasha doesn’t know why a boy so much bigger and older than her would be afraid of her, but she puts her arm through the bars and holds the keys out to him. A trembling hand snatches them from her and fumbles with the keys trying to get to the right one. They keep falling from his hand and the frustration makes him start to cry. He only has one hand and no matter how hard he tries, he’s too panicked to get it right.

“Here, let me,” Natasha says and holds her hand out. “Which one?”

The boy gives her the keys and points to the right one. She’s able to fit it into the keyhole, but can’t get it to turn. The boy’s just tossed his sack back over his left side and tells her to move away. He reaches through the bars again and easily turns the key. The lock opens. The door opens. And the boy steps out. 

There’re people coming. Natasha can hear them and so can the boy. His eyes are wide and full of fear, but Natasha tells him she’ll bring him somewhere he can go. Right before he’d leave with her, he gasps and sprints back into the cage. He scoops up his teddy bear and runs out with Natasha just as someone cries out, “Murder!”

“We ran,” Natasha tells Sam from in the safety of her room in the Opera House. Lamp lit and warm, though Sam feels dark and cold right now. “As fast as we could. I brought him here to the Opera House. Let him hide in the lower levels. Away from the world and its cruelties. He has known nothing else of life since then, except this Opera House. It was his playground. His home. The only family he’s ever known.” Natasha’s eyes glisten for just one second before settling again. “He’s a _good_ man, Count Wilson. A genius and a magician. An artist and an architect. A _genius_.”

Sam can’t help but to wonder if genius... has turned to madness. 

Steve can’t sleep that night. He’s restless with one too many thoughts that refuse to leave his mind. There’s no ring for him to play with to sooth his nerves and no angel of music to sing him to sleep. All Steve can do is turn his thoughts over and over in his mind. 

He loves Sam. He wants to marry him. Really, he can’t wait to marry Sam. Sam makes him happy and reminds him of home and his childhood while also helping him look towards a bright future filled with daylight and summertime. Being with Sam feels right. 

But leaving Bucky behind feels wrong. Bucky’s been a part of his life for the last decade. The voice in a time of silence. He gave Steve music, when he thought the last song had already been played. A friend shrouded by intrigue and mystery. And there is, within Steve’s heart, a pulse just for him. 

Still, Steve doesn’t know what it will cost him to stay with Bucky. Does choosing Bucky mean having to give up Sam forever? Natasha? Will it mean descending down into the dark and twisted lair below the Opera House where no sunlight dare go? Living his days and nights out there? Maybe he could do it. Do it all.

If he was with Bucky.

Still unable to sleep as the first light of dawn breathes across the sky, Steve tosses his blankets aside and dresses. He slips out of the dorms and pays a cabby to take him to the cemetery where his mother’s grave is. 

Seconds after they pull away, Sam arrives just as Natasha comes running out to tell him that Steve is gone. Having seen the cab pull away, Sam assumes that was Steve and hops on his horse to race after him. 

At the cemetery, Steve slowly wanders towards Sarah’s final resting place, thinking about how much he misses her and wishes he could just have one more conversation with her.

_You were once my one companion_ , he thinks of her. Silent prayers he can only hope she hears from someplace better. _You were all that mattered. And then my... my whole world was shattered._

As he approaches the mausoleum, Steve’s thoughts become words.

“I wish you could somehow be here again,” he murmurs. “I wish you could just be somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you _would_ be here.” 

Picking out one of the flowers that he brought with him, Steve lays one down on the stone steps in front of him. He glances back up and looks at his last name carved into the stone above the entrance. 

“Mother, I wish I could just hear your voice again. I’ve been wishing for so long, knowing that I never would.” Steve sighs. He wonders what he’s been doing all this time. He’s spent so many years wishing for his mother. Wishing for something that could never be. He’s survived. Survived. Not lived. “Dreaming of you helped me to do all that you dreamed I could. This place is just so cold and monumental. For you they’re wrong companions. You were always so warm and gentle.” Steve sits down on the stone steps. He keeps his back to the mausoleum. “I’ve spent too many years fighting back tears. Why can’t the past just die? I wish you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye.” Steve wipes at his eyes. Feels the tears that glide down. “Mother, is there any way you can forgive if I try to learn how to live? Please, give me the strength to try. I can no longer be lost in memories. No more silent tears. No more gazing across the wasted years. Help me, Mother. To say goodbye. Please, help me to say goodbye.”

Placing the rest of the flowers down beside him, Steve keeps his hand resting upon them as he tries to understand who he’s trying to say goodbye to. His mother. Or Bucky. 

Or both.

For a few minutes, Steve just sits there. Alone in the cold winter winds. 

“Wandering child so lost, so helpless, yearning for my guidance.” 

He must have followed Steve here. Bucky’s soft voice is carried gently along the wind behind him. Crawling up Steve’s spine and sinking into his whole body. But just last night, Bucky had mocked him. Stole his ring. Threatened Sam. After three months of silence. Three months of ignoring him. 

Steve is angry with Bucky. So angry. _Furious_. He’s angry at being ignored. For the way Bucky treated him. For bringing him music and then taking it away.

“Angel or _demon_?” Steve asks. Keeping his back to Bucky. “Friend or _phantom_? Who is it _this_ time?”

Snow crunches from behind him as Bucky comes closer. It’s the first warning Steve’s ever gotten to his approach. Bucky moves slow, and when he’s standing behind him, the back of his hand brushes softly against Steve’s cheek. 

“Have you forgotten your angel?” Bucky murmurs.

“My angel...” Steve whispers as fingers comb through his hair. Soft and gentle. _I’m the furthest thing from one_ , he had said. Steve can’t tell if that’s true or not. Phantom or angel. “Speak to me, my precious angel. Such endless longings I’ve had of your whispered answers.”

“Too long you’ve wandered in winter,” he replies. His hand trailing down to caress Steve’s neck. “Away from my far reaching gaze.”

Steve’s heart slams against his chest. The feel of Bucky’s skin against his own, the sound of his voice, his presence -- it’s hypnotizing. And so confusing. 

“You don’t understand,” Steve says. “My heart beats wildly against you.”

Bucky’s thumb brushes the corner of Steve’s mouth. “But your soul?”

“Yet my soul...” When that hand begins to move again, Steve grabs it and nuzzles his cheek into Bucky’s palm. He cries softly against it. “My soul obeys.”

Bucky’s hand closes around his. Holds tight and firm. 

“You _denied_ me,” he accuses. “My work and my music. You turned from true beauty.”

“No,” Steve weeps as a new feeling sweeps over him. Like the harsh wind of a dark, shadowed night. Guilt. “Please...” he whimpers as he clutches at Bucky’s hand. “Forgive me.”

“Do not shun me.”

Tears in his eyes, Steve looks over his shoulder and quickly shakes his head. Needs a moment to speak without losing himself to his tears. Bucky is still so beautiful. Enchanting. Even now. 

“Never,” he whispers. “My protector. My strange angel.”

There’s a tug at his hand and Steve knows Bucky means to help him to his feet. He stands. Finds himself lost in the strange abyss of Bucky’s eyes. A swirl of passion and intensity that rises with each passing moment. Steve’s pulse beats hot, right at the surface of his skin. He _needs_ to be close to him. To Bucky. With every beat of his heart. He _needs_ him.

“Come to me,” Bucky says. He backs up a step. Steve follows. “Come with your Angel of Music.”

“Are you my angel?”

Mother sent him. Sent him to Steve. To guide and protect him. She had to have. This is not a man. No mere mortal can have such power of possession. To be able to reach into another’s soul and take it so completely as he’s done to Steve. A spell of winter and ice that cannot be broken.

“ _I_ am your Angel of Music.” His grip gets tighter. Almost painfully so. Bucky tugs to make Steve follow. “ _Come_ with your Angel of Music.”

Yes. To the deepest dungeons of all despair. To the fiery pits of Hell that no man has ever escaped. Steve will follow him. 

“No! Steve, wait!”

That voice breaks through the haze and fog in Steve’s mind. Swirls around and breaks a chain that holds him there. He turns away from Bucky.

“Sam?”

Sam runs at them as Bucky gives another pull to Steve’s arm. This time, Steve resists... and lets go of Bucky’s hand. Sam gets between them and grabs Steve’s shoulders.

“Steve, whatever you believe, this man is just a man. He’s not an angel. Your mother _didn’t_ send him to you.”

“But, Sam...” Steve’s heart falls to see Bucky pulling a dagger out from beneath his cloak, the silver blade shimmering in the morning twilight. “Bucky, no!”

The dagger comes down. And slices through the top of Steve’s arm as he twirls Sam out of the way. Steve gasps as the pain ripples through him. Grabs at his arm and glances back at Bucky. 

Bucky staggers back with the dagger still gripped tightly in his hand. Steve’s blood dripping from the blade and landing like rose petals in the soft snow. He glares at Steve like he’s both horrified at what he’s done and like he thinks Steve _made_ him do it. He’s still staring at Steve when Sam draws his own weapon. 

Their blades lock. The horrible sounds of their clashing pierce through Steve’s ears. Steve shouts for them to stop only for his pleas to go unheard. He intervenes. Pulls Sam away and pushes Bucky back.

“Not like this!” he yells. And says softer to Sam, “Not like this.”

With Steve between them, Sam withdraws some. Bucky remains ready for a fight. 

“You need to have that looked at,” Sam remarks. Gently runs his fingers over Steve’s sleeve. “Come back with me, Steve.”

He’s right. Steve wants to go, too. He wants to go back and have a doctor look at his arm and be with Sam. Steve has let Sam in. Opened up. He doesn’t know how to close again. Nor does he want to. 

Steve takes a step towards Sam. His foot squishes some of his blood deeper into the snow beneath him. 

But... going back with Sam... does that mean...?

Steve looks back at Bucky.

“Bucky...” he whispers.

Pain touches his heart at the expression he’s given. Bucky’s jaw is clenched. Nostrils flared. His eyes hold all the venom made for killing a man and he trembles with the fury that’s consumed him. 

“ _Fine_ ,” he growls. Flings the dagger to the ground where it lands with a clang. “Then let it be war upon you _both_.”

Something awful shoots through Steve as Bucky turns around and disappears again, his cloak twirling around him as he does. A premonition of some sort. A dark and sinister tale that has yet to be told. 

Back at the Opera House, Sam enlists the help of Tony and Rhodey and Natasha. He claims they’ve all been blind with the answer staring them right in the face. He’s come up with a way to ensnare their clever friend. The managers say they’re listening and ask him to go on. 

Sam suggests that they play the Phantom’s game and perform his play, but reminds them that _they_ hold the ace. That if Steve sings, he is certain to attend. Tony and Rhodey understand. They agree to lock the doors, bring in the guards and have them all armed. 

“The curtain falls,” Sam says. “His reign will end.”

Natasha, however, informs them that she believes they are just wasting their time. 

“He’ll be a step ahead of you every time,” she says. “And he’ll destroy you.”

Their plan is put into action despite Natasha’s objections and they begin preparations to put on the Phantom’s Opera. Everyone is cooperative, even Natasha albeit reluctantly. Everyone _except_ Steve. His arm needed to be stitched and he was confined to a bed for a full day to avoid infection, but he’s fine. Physically. 

“I _won’t_ hurt him,” Steve insists. “You can’t make me.”

“I don’t…” Sam hurries to Steve’s side where he kneels at the altar in the chapel. “Steve, I don’t want you to hurt him.”

“You want him dead.” 

That’s not something Sam can deny without some false ringing through it. A part of him believes this will be better solved if it ends with the Phantom’s death. A cold body to go with a cold heart. No longer will he be able to haunt them. Haunt _Steve_. But then… 

“You would be hurt if harm came to him,” Sam whispers. “Therefore, you’d be devastated by his death. So no, Little Stevie, I do not wish for his death.”

Steve folds his hands in prayer and faces the altar again. 

“You’d take it.”

“I would,” Sam admits. He’s not going to lie to Steve. “If only to keep him from hurting anyone else.”

Closing his eyes, Steve rests his brow against his knuckles. “He’s a good man.”

“He kills without a thought. Murders all that’s good.”

That’s not… no, it’s more complicated that that. Sam just doesn’t understand.

“You’re wrong.”

“He murdered Joseph Buquet.”

“ _No_ ,” Steve argues. That’s not true. It can’t be. There must be some reasonable explanation for it. “It was an accident. It had to have been.”

“He tried to kill me,” Sam points out. He grazes his fingers along the spot on Steve’s arm that’s healing. “And hurt you in trying to.”

“That was…” What? What was it? “He was just… angry. And confused. He didn’t mean…” To hurt Steve. That’s the truth. But he did intend on killing Sam. There’s no denying that. As much as his heart and soul try to. “When I first came here, I had nothing, Sam. _Nothing_. And then there was Bucky. When I had nothing, I had Bucky. I can help him, Sam. Save him.”

Sympathy flickers across Sam’s face. “Whoever he used to be? The man he is now, I don’t think he’s the kind you can save.” 

“You’re wrong.” _Please, God, let him be wrong_. “I have to try. I--”

“Steve,” Sam interrupts. “I won’t pretend to understand any of this. Or how you and him…” He sighs. “Whatever it is between the two of you? I can’t come between it. I won’t even try. And…” He puts his hand on Steve’s head. Gently pets over and down to his neck. Steve’s muscles lose some tension beneath his touch. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.” As if he could. “But, Steve, you must know that _something_ has to be done. This needs to end.”

The truth of Sam’s statement rests heavily upon Steve’s chest. This is an ordeal by fire. If they go through with this, Bucky will take him. Steve knows that. He’ll take him; part him from Sam forever, and never let him go. What troubles Steve even more than Bucky’s desire to keep Steve for himself is the undeniable truth that Steve will go with him willingly. 

What Steve used to dream of, he now dreads. 

This is twisted every way. What answer can he give? Can he really risk Bucky’s life, to win his chance to live? Can he betray the man who once inspired his voice? Even if Steve’s now become his prey. Does he really have any choice?

“I know I can’t refuse,” Steve whispers. “And yet… I wish I could.” He smothers his face in his palms. Feels Sam’s touch get stronger as he places both hands on his shoulders. “Oh, God, if I agree what horrors wait for me in this… the Phantom’s Opera?”

“Steve?” Sam gently places his hand under Steve’s chin. “Steve, please don’t think that I don’t care. I won’t make you choose between us. But this decision rests on you now.”

Steve takes hold of the hand under his chin. He kisses those fingers and presses Sam’s palm to the side of his face. Rising from his knees in spot for prayers, Steve steps closer to Sam.

“Promise me, Sam,” he murmurs. “Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

That’s not a promise that Sam seal with full confidence in keeping. He’ll swear it though, and by his family’s honor, do his best in trying to keep it. Sam pulls Steve into his arms. 

“I do everything I can, Little Stevie.” Steve’s arms tighten around him. “I promise.”

In sleep, he sang to Steve. In dreams, he came. That voice which called to him. And spoke his name. Steve thinks of everything and nothing. His mother promised him she’d send him the Angel of music. His mother promised him…

His mother promised him.

****

*******

On opening night, a line waits around the Opera House. People waiting to come in to be first viewing of a brand new play. Ladies and gentlemen of the highest social standings. Tony and Rhodey are there to greet them. Confident that tonight they will emerge victorious. Despite the plan intended for the Phantom’s fall, Hodge still gripes and complains about the small size of his role in tonight’s performance. Natasha directs the dancers and gives her final warnings. That this is madness. They will not turn the tides. After positioning the guards at their stations with explicit instructions to not act without his word -- there’s a promise to be kept -- Sam sits with Steve in his dressing room. Steve remains silent, even with Sam’s presence. All the words have already been said. Tonight will end one of two ways. With Bucky’s demise or Bucky’s victory. Both of them will see Steve changed forever. 

And down below the busy floors of the Opera House, where musicians tune their instruments, and dancers stretch their muscles, and singers ready their voices, in the center of a stone labyrinth dripping with nightmares and darkness, is their Phantom of the Opera. Steve’s Angel of Music. Bucky, as he makes his final preparations for what will be his great and triumphant finale. His final performance. One that will haunt the walls of the Opera House forever. That people will talk about for years to come. 

“Seal my fate tonight,” he mutters to himself as he readies. “I hate to have to cut the fun short.” He ties a new cloak around him. A costume he shares tonight with Gilmore Hodge. “But the joke’s wearing thin.” Bucky slips a masquerade mask over his face. “Let the audience in.” Tonight. It all ends tonight. “Let my opera _begin_!”

****

*******

The stage has been set up with deep shades of reds and oranges. Spotlights covered in the same colorings. Effects of flames that consume everything dance around a large wooden structure. A bridge. Lit torches have been strategically placed about the stage to add to the ominous glow. There are ropes. Dozens and dozens of ropes tied to various places on the bridge and hanging over the stage. Casting serpentine shadows over everything. Dancers in scanty costumes to match the fires twist and turn together in a sensual scene of macabre chaos. 

The dancers dance to the chorus’s song.

_Here the sire may serve the man. Here the master takes his meat! Here the sacrificial lamb utters one despairing bleat._

People in the audience watch in mild shock. A bit unable to comprehend exactly how to process the scene unfolding before them. Up in Box Five, Sam looks on. Waiting for the right moment to strike. Gazes across the theater to where Tony and Rhodey watch from their own box. Guards are at the ready. Positioned with their guns. 

The opening act sees Hodge setting up the story. A tale of deceit and betrayal. Putting on a mask to trick the unsuspecting love interest. 

Waiting for his cue, Steve peers across the stage. If he’s going to help Bucky, it needs to be tonight. He doesn’t know what he’s planned. What’s going to happen. The uncertainty makes him tremble. And yet, it fuels him. Everything comes down to this. Every hope and every prayer rests on him now. 

“Here's my hat, my cloak and sword,” Hodge sings to the other character on stage with him. Mask in place. Cloak draped over his body, covering most of his left. “Conquest is assured. If I do not forget myself and laugh!”

They both make their exit. And Steve steps on. 

Every eye in the audience falls on him. Only one pair matters to Steve. He can’t break character and glance up at Sam, but he wishes he could. To remind him of his promise. 

“No thoughts within my head but thoughts of joy,” Steve sings as he walks front and center. Crouches down when he reaches the spot. “No dreams within my heart, but dreams of love!”

He waits for Hodge to re-enter. And has to wait a heartbeat longer than in rehearsal. Steve can only hope the tiny delay doesn’t ruin everything. Any mistake could cost him the world tonight.

“You have come here.” Steve’s heart stops. A chill runs through his whole body. The color drains from his face. That voice… “In pursuit of your deepest urge.” Steve would recognize it anywhere. “In pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent…” That’s not Hodge. Steve gradually looks over his shoulder. “Silent.” There’s a finger over his lips. Somehow taunting and sensual at the same time. A command for silence. From Bucky. “ _I_ have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge.” The tiny hairs on Steve’s body rise as Bucky’s eyes gleam from behind the black mask. Steve’s own eyes fall closed, Bucky’s words sinking into his soul. His plan. To get to Steve. Right here. For all to see. “In your mind you've already succumbed to me. Dropped all defenses. Completely succumbed to me.” As Bucky moves to the front of the stage, Steve glances back at him again. He’s losing already. To the spell always cast by his angel’s voice. “Now you are here with me…” He is. Steve is there with Bucky. Not just in body. “No second thoughts. You've decided. Decided.”

Slowly rising to his feet, Steve can only stare at Bucky. Enraptured. Again. The power Bucky has over him is frightening. It runs through his body. Pushes Steve to obey. 

“Past the point of no return, no backward glances,” Bucky sings. Sings to _Steve_. No longer a character of a play that has ceased to exist. For them. “Our games of make believe are at an end.” This is it. Here and now. Only truth lies before them. “Past all thought of if or when, no use resisting.” Bucky circles around Steve. Eyes never leaving him. Not once as he sings his words. It makes Steve’s pulse beat hot for he, too, cannot look away. “Abandon thought and let the dream descend.” 

It’d be so easy. To go to him. Let everything else just fade away. Especially when Bucky races up behind him. Slides his hand over Steve throat and closes his fingers around it. It makes Steve’s head roll back against his shoulder as Bucky’s lips trail over his neck. Just like last time. 

“What _raging_ fire shall flood the soul? What rich _desire_ unlocks its door?” Bucky’s warm breath rolls over Steve’s throat. His fingers trail over Steve’s lips and it takes every ounce of self control that Steve possesses not to pull them into his mouth. “What sweet _seduction_ lies before us?” 

Bucky slowly glides his hand down Steve’s arm and begins to move away as he does. Leaves Steve lost and alone without him so close. He takes hold of Steve’s fingers when he’s stepped an arm’s length away. He brings the back of Steve’s hand to his lips. Presses a kiss to it. Lips lingering and grip tightening.

“Past the point of no return…” Bucky lets Steve take his hand back. Keeping with the charade of a performance. “The final threshold. What warm _unspoken secrets_ will we learn? Beyond the point of no return.”

It’s Steve’s turn to sing. He’s played his part. Stepped away from Bucky like he’s meant to. Stepped away though it pains him to do so. 

“You have brought me, to that moment when words run dry. To that moment when speech disappears into silence… _silence_.” 

Steve’s gaze sweeps up to Sam. Finds him watching with the same intensity that runs through Steve. Sam is here. Watching the true nature of Steve’s relationship with Bucky unfold before him. And it makes Steve hate himself for ever letting Bucky pull him in so deeply. 

“I have come here,” Steve continues to sing back to him. “Hardly knowing the reason why. In my mind I've already imagined, our bodies entwining defenseless and silent.” Above him, Steve sees Sam gesture for the guards. He’s readying to make his move, but holds his hand out. Keeping his promise. “And now I am here with you.” Steve looks back at Bucky. Already drawn to the strange pull that is him. Even with Sam right there. “No second thoughts, I've decided… _decided_.”

They’ve both shifted in position. Steve is face to face with Bucky. The Angel of Music. The Phantom of the Opera. Bucky stares back at him. Lips parted just enough for Steve to notice. The way Bucky looks at him now makes every pair of eyes fade away. Leaves Steve here with only Bucky. Gone is the audience that watches. Gone are the guards preparing to come in. Gone is… Sam. 

“Past the point of no return, no going back now.” Steve’s been consumed and still continues to sing. For Bucky. His angel. “Our passion play has now at last begun. Past all thought of right or wrong, one final question.” He and Bucky have begun to move back towards the bridge. Steve on one end. Bucky on the other. “How _long_ should we to wait, before we're one?” There are two winding staircases. One for Steve. One for Bucky. Steve doesn’t know who mirrors who as they start up them. One by one until they reach the top. “When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom? When will the flames at last consume us?”

Here. Now. The flames have been there all along. Waiting. For this moment. With just the spanse of this short bridge separating them and the air hot all around them. Steve needs to get to him. Touch him. Be touched _by_ him. _Consumed_. 

As they cross, they sing. Together. 

“Past the point of no return.” They ease their way towards each other. Eyes never blinking. “The final threshold.” They’re finally within reach. And Steve latches onto him. Hands grabbing his waist. Afraid he’ll disappear again if he let’s go. “The bridge is crossed…” Bucky spins him. Once again pinning Steve’s back to his chest to wrap his arm around him. “So stand and watch it burn!” Steve puts his hand over Bucky’s. Helps guide it up his chest. Eye falling closed, Steve tries to control himself as Bucky lets the corners of their lips meet. “We’ve past the point of no… return.” 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Steve knows something is supposed to happen. The next move in a game greater than himself. He can hardly bring himself to care. The night grows still around them. Shadows of the flames below licking at the walls and ceilings and floors. Bucky’s fingers never stop touching Steve. His lips feather along Steve’s neck. His cheek. The very corner of his mouth. Makes Steve’s chest inflate with so much air he might float away to the greatest heavens. 

They’re silent. All Steve can hear is his pulse beating hard and fast in his ears. Until Bucky sings again. Soft. Gentle. A lullaby for Steve and only Steve. 

“Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime…” His hand gently caresses Steve’s cheek. Lips so close to Steve’s ear Steve can feel them graze over it. “Lead me, save me from my solitude.” Steve’s eyes begin to open. And the world come crashing back around him as Bucky reworks Sam’s confession of love into a declaration of his own. “Say you want me with you now and always.” Bucky glides out from behind him. Takes Steve hand and clutches it to his chest. “Anywhere you go let me go to!” There are tears in his eyes. Steve curls his hand to his cheek and pushes Bucky’s mask off so he can look upon his face. “ _Please_ , Steve…” Steve needs him to know. Everything. That his appearance doesn’t frighten him. Doesn’t change how he feels about him at all. Steve can’t go through with this. Can’t let them take Bucky. And there might only be one way to get Bucky to flee. “That’s all I ask of--”

Steve pulls the tie that keeps Bucky’s cloak on. It slips away and exposes his left side. The side that Bucky dreads being seen so much he almost slapped Steve for simply laying eyes upon it. 

It makes the audience -- people who know nothing more about this man that his physical appearance -- scream in fright and disgust. People cover their mouths like they might be sick. Cover their eyes so they don’t have to see. Bucky glances around like he’s in pain as the whispers of repulsion circle around him.

There’s a scream in the distance. Cries of murder. Shouts of horror and dismay. _Gilmore Hodge is dead_ they say. A knife in his back. And that’s when Steve knows, Sam is right. Steve doesn’t know how to save this man.

Bucky’s face crumples in misery when Steve pulls away from him. Below them, the cast and crew scrambles about. The audience stirs in more confusion and fear. The guards are headed for them. Box Five is empty. _Grab him! Stop him! Don’t let him get away!_ It’s all falling apart. Still, Steve stays. He doesn’t know how to save Bucky, but he doesn’t know how to leave him either. 

It only takes a breath for Bucky to make his next move. His jaw clenches. Poison fills his eyes. He snags the front of Steve’s shirt and yanks him back over. This can’t happen. Not this time. Steve can’t go. Not with Bucky’s anger. Steve struggles, and then freezes when Bucky pulls out a dagger. A dagger Steve first mistakes as meant for him. But Bucky simply lets the blade slice through one of the ropes. 

A shudder sounds out over the rest of the noise in the theater as the rope is pulled away by something big and heavy. Glass rattling. Wires snapping.

And the grand chandelier begins to fall from the ceiling. 

Steve only has time to gasp in horror at what Bucky’s done. An arm clasps around his waist. Bucky kicks a lever and trap doors open beneath their feet. 

Together they plummet down. Down… down… down… into the all consuming darkness.

Chaos breaks through the theater. People scream and scatter as the chandelier falls towards the stage, its chains ripping through the ceiling. The chandelier crashes in a ball of sparks and explosions. It shatters to pieces and sets fire to the stage. Flames quickly engulf the theater and begins to spread. Bodies fall and gets trampled over. Tony and Rhodey do their best to help get people out safely. It’s sheer pandemonium. 

Sam, having darted out of Box Five when another of the Phantom’s victim was found, runs backstage. There are people everywhere. Trying to get out. The flames haven’t spread beyond the theater so the guards are still hunting the Opera Ghost. There are demands to hunt him down. _Hunt down the murderer! He must be found!_ Some of the cast and crew going along with them.

Desperate to find Steve, Sam seeks out the one person he knows can help him. 

“Natasha!” he cries out when he sees a flash of red hair. She stops and turns. “Please, where is he? Where has he taken him?”

“Come with me.” She takes him by the wrist and turns down an empty hall. “I will take you.”

The Opera House is so much bigger than Sam could have imagined. So many twists and turns and doors that lead to more back rooms no longer in use and lower levels. That’s where Natasha brings him. They descend a stone staircase. Dust covers the steps. Cobwebs crumble in the corners. Old tapestries -- faded and torn -- are pinned to the wall. 

They move briskly. Sam tries to focus on getting to Steve and not what he just saw. His heart pounded as he watched Steve singing with the Phantom. It hurt to see. The raw passion between them. A connection, Sam already knew they had. But their display, as Steve let himself be stripped down by the Phantom to nothing more than primal instincts, proved just how… _intense_ that connection is. The Phantom may have written the words, but Steve spoke them with truth. Sam’s knows him well enough to see that. To _feel_ it. 

Sam doesn’t know what Steve will chose to do. More importantly, he doesn’t know what the Phantom might do to Steve. He needs to get to them. 

“This is as far as I’ll go,” Natasha says as she comes to a half. “Do not stray from the path. And remember, he will not make this easy for you. There will be traps along the way.”

“Traps,” Sam repeats. “A trial by fire, is it? So be it. Steve is worth it. Thank you, Natasha.” He kisses her cheek. “Be safe.” 

Natasha gives him the lantern and goes back up the way they came as Sam continues downward. another flight of stairs for Sam to understand why Natasha relinquished the lantern. The light has completely disappeared. Sam would be in total darkness if not for Natasha’s generosity.

Unfortunately, in his haste, Natasha’s warning goes unheeded. One wrong step is all it takes. Just a moment of not paying close enough attention and Sam falls through a door in the ground. Damp, musty air rushes by him until he crashes onto cobblestone. An old, discarded road that runs under the Opera House. Pain shoots through him upon impact. The bones in Sam’s right arm have broken. His left ankle doesn’t fair much better. 

Sam rolls onto his back. A grunt and held in cry catch in his throat. He feels around for the lantern. Touching broken glass first and cutting his finger. Sam hisses and sticks the wounded finger in his mouth. There are matches in his pocket. Two cigars as well. He had hoped this evening would end in such a way that he and Steve could enjoy them in celebration. Though Steve’s lungs have always been weaker than most others, he’s indulged before. It doesn’t matter anymore. Even if they get out of this together, one of the cigars is crushed now.

After Sam gets the lantern relit, he picks himself up and limps down the path. Away from the stairs. From the way back up. Every step hurts, but he pushes onward. It’s what Steve would do for him. What Steve might do for just about anyone. Sam won’t fail him. From up above, stone begins to tremble and fall from the ceiling. The Opera House is on fire. It might crumble. It’s not safe down here. 

Sam’s first bit of hope is when he sees a flicker of light. There’s a glow of candlelight ahead. A glow of candlelight and the sound of the river. 

Down once more to the dungeons of Bucky’s black despair. Down they plunges to the prisons of his mind. Down that path into darkness deep as hell. 

“Bucky, _stop_!” 

He’s been dragging Steve through a twisted maze of stone. Going deeper and deeper under the Opera House. Grip harsh and tight as his hand shackles around Steve’s wrist. Steve holds a torch. One Bucky _shoved_ into his hand when they began this journey. 

“We’re nearly there,” Bucky grunts and yanks on Steve’s arm to keep him moving. 

“And _then_ what?” Steve asks. Teeth clenched and getting tired of Bucky being so rough. “What happens next?” 

“We _leave_.” Bucky sounds irritated with Steve asking questions. “We take the boat and follow the river out. Leave the city. Start somewhere new.” 

Steve yanks his arm away. One strong pull just enough to free himself from Bucky’s grasp. Letting loose a string of swears, Bucky swirls around right away and reaches out to snatch him up again with his misguided intentions of dragging Steve _somewhere new_. Of trapping him in his dark prison forever. Where he’ll always be there singing songs in Steve’s head. The Angel of Music singing songs in his head… 

Only this time, Steve doesn’t let him. He pulls his arm away and holds the torch out in front of him. Which makes Bucky stagger and cower back. His arm flies up in front of him to cover his face and shield his body. Bucky curls into himself and away from Steve. A position of absolute dread. Bucky’s afraid of Steve. Or of the fire he holds near him. 

Steve doesn’t move. He could turn around right now, leave Bucky cowering like this, and try to find his way out of the stone pit of twists and turns. This might be his only chance to try. But Steve never even considers it. He simply withdraws his arm. Taking the flames away from Bucky so he does not need to fear their proximity. 

When Bucky realizes that Steve’s lowered the torch, he straightens up and glares at him before snatching his wrist like he tried to just a moment ago. He pulls Steve forward. Makes him go. Steve drags his feet, but moves again. 

“Do you really think I’m going to go with you?” Steve asks as the soft glow of Bucky’s lair flickers in front of them. “That I’ll _stay_ with you?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just continues to tow Steve with him. “You’ve murdered! For no other reason I can see than because you _could_!” That only makes Bucky move faster. He forces Steve into the boat that will take them across the river to his bedroom. “I know you killed Hodge.” Steve says. “Did you really kill Buquet, too?” He doesn’t want to believe it. Even now. In the face of everything, that tiny glimmer of hope means so much to him. But Bucky still doesn’t answer. Steve’s heart twists. “I take it by your silence that you did.” 

“They were in the way,” Bucky mutters as he uses a pole to push the boat forward. 

In the way. That’s Bucky’s justification. Sitting in the boat, Steve can only feel pity for this man. His Angel of Music. Once a seduction of Steve’s very soul. Now, something else entirely. 

The second the boat is close enough to the stone floor in front of them, Bucky leaps out of it. Leaves Steve just sitting there. Bucky goes over by a metal lever. When he pulls it, an iron gate lowers at the mouth of the lair, right in the middle of the water. The only way out now is to follow the river. Just like Bucky said. 

“Why are you doing this?” Steve asks when Bucky comes back and grabs him by the back of the shirt to haul him out of the boat. “Bucky, _why_?” 

Steve’s question finally pulls a real reaction out of Bucky. He swirls around. All the anger Steve feels right now mirrored in Bucky’s eyes. 

“ _Why_?” he roars. “You want know _why_? Well so do I, Steve! _Why_ you ask?” His mouth clamps as he gestures to where they are. “Why was _I_ bound and chained in this cold and dismal place?” Bucky glares at Steve as though he’s the one responsible for all the ghosts of his past. “ _Not_ for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of my abhorrent flesh.” Gaze falling away from Steve, Bucky appears lost in a world Steve doesn’t know. A place Steve’s never been to. A time only Bucky knows. “Hounded down by _everyone_ …” His voice is hard. Angry. So angry. “Met with _hatred_ everywhere.” He stares hard at the world he sees before his eyes. “No kind words from _anyone_. No compassion _anywhere_. Why?” Bucky peers back at Steve. “Steve… _why_?”

To that, Steve has no answer. He wishes he did. One that didn’t condemn the morality of the world. When he says nothing, Bucky shoves him towards the bed. Where there’s a pile of fresh clothes waiting for him. Bucky tells him to changes and storms away again. Steve sighs. Lowers himself to the corner of the bed and tries to figure out what to do. A way to get out of here. Back up to Sam. Away from this place of unending nightmares. Looking around, Steve tries to make sense of all the ropes -- strung this way and that way and up and down -- along the whole place. There’re levers -- other than the one that Bucky used to close the gate with -- and cranks and even pulleys hanging from the ceiling. Everything is so intricate and elaborate. Steve has no idea what will happen if he makes one wrong move. The Opera House might crash down around them. 

An intense and unimaginable anger surges through him. All Steve wanted to do was save Bucky. To help him. Steve might have given up _everything_ for him. Lived a life drowned in darkness and night. With Bucky. Steve might have given up Sam for Bucky. And now he’s found himself here. Trapped. By the man who was once his angel and has now been consumed by phantom. 

Steve grips at his hair in frustration, then gets off the bed. Ignoring the clothes Bucky’s instructed him to change into. 

“Have you gorged yourself at last for your lust of _blood_?” Steve growls. Comes around the corner to see Bucky with his back to him. He’s looking down at something in his hand. When Steve speaks, however, Bucky’s head lifts and he glances over his shoulder. He turns and looks at Steve as though morbidly amused by him. In his fingers, he holds Steve’s ring. “Am I now to be prey to your lust for _flesh_?” 

“That fate which condemned me to wallow in blood?” He moves towards Steve. A mocking sneer on his lips. “It’s also denied me…” He tries to slip his fingers under Steve’s chin, but Steve turns his face away so that he can’t touch him. “The joys of the flesh.” Bucky’s hand lightly grazes the back of Steve’s hair. Steve refuses to give him the satisfaction of leaning back into the touch as he’s done in the past. “This _curse_ , this _infection_ , which poisons our love.” Steve looks back at him. Shocked. Does he really believe _that_ to be the obstacle that lies between them? Bucky’s voice is soft and filled with a sadness Steve’s never heard before when he says, “This curse which earned a mother’s… fear and loathing.” Tears touch Steve’s eyes. Bucky’s pain is unimaginable to him, for Sarah’s love for Steve was whole and unconditional. “A sack was my first… unfeeling _scrap_ of clothing.” His fingers graze down his left shoulder. Eyes lifting back to Steve, Bucky must see the sympathy that’s whispered all over him. And he doesn’t like it. “ _Pity_ comes too _late_!” he hisses. Steve goes to turn from him again, from the vicious anger that lights fire in his eyes, but Bucky grabs hold of his arm to keep him from doing so. “Turn _around_ and face your _fate_! An eternity of _this_ \--” Bucky lifts what remains of his left arm “--before your eyes.”

Taking hold of Steve’s hand, Bucky gently slides the ring onto his finger. Heart turned in towards Steve. He folds his fingers in and wraps his hand around Steve’s. They both look up at the same time. Eyes locking. Steve slowly shakes his head and moves away. He turns his hand over and takes the ring off. The crushed look on Bucky’s face makes his heart ache, but he has to make Bucky understand. He takes hold of Bucky’s hand and, for the first time ever, it’s Steve who leads him. Over to one of the several large, ornate mirrors. 

Steve pulls the sheet off of the closest one and stands Bucky in front of it. Behind him, Steve places a hand on Bucky’s forearms. _Both_ of them. Bucky tenses. In the glass, Steve can see the astonishment that flashes across his face as Steve’s touches him without flinching. Without gagging or pulling away. Touching Bucky the way he’d touch anyone. 

“This haunted flesh holds no horror for me now.” Under Steve’s hands is smooth skin and rough skin. Neither better or worse than the other. “It _never_ did.” Bucky’s reflection peers up at Steve’s. They watch each other in the glass. “It’s right in here--” Steve takes his right hand and touches it to Bucky’s chest. “In your soul, that the _true_ distortion lies.”

Eyes squeezing closed, Bucky turns his face away from the mirror. From his reflection. From Steve. He tears away from him. Silently staring at the ground. Bucky slowly lifts his gaze… and smiles. A mean, _taunting_ smile that Steve’s seen before.

“Wait!” He whips his gaze back to Steve. “It seems, my dear, we have a _guest_.” 

A guest? Steve peeks out to where Bucky had been last been looking. He gasps. Approaching the gate -- right arm cradled in his left hand and having trouble putting weight on his left foot -- is Sam. He sloshes -- tired and ragged -- through the dirty river water. 

“Sam!” Steve cries and rushes to the water’s edge. 

He catches Sam’s attention. Sam moves quicker then. Hurrying to the closed gate and grabbing onto the iron bars when he’s there. 

“Sir!” Bucky calls out in a tone of false pleasantries. “This is indeed an _unparalleled_ delight!” He makes his way back over to Steve. “I had rather hoped that you would come. And now, my wish comes true!” He fakes a dark laugh when he puts an arm around Steve. Jostles him in closer even though Steve tells him to let him go. “You have truly made my night!” 

“Let him go!” Sam demands. Reaching his arm in through the gate as though he has some hope of reaching Steve from across the river. “Do what you want, but let him go!” 

Bucky gives Steve a tight, dark smirk. Steel eyes hard and mocking. “Your lover makes a _passionate_ plea.” 

“Sam, it’s useless,” Steve says. He doesn’t bother dignifying Bucky with a response to his taunting. Right now, he needs to get Sam out of here. There’s no telling what Bucky will do when pushed to the edge. He’s already shown how capable he is of murder. “Just go, Sam. I’ll be okay.” 

But Sam clenches his teeth and looks at Bucky again. A hateful glare of spite and contempt.

“Have you no pity?” Sam snarls. “I _love_ him! Does that mean nothing? I love him! Show some _compassion_!”

“The _world_ showed _no compassion_ to me!” Bucky yells. Pulls a dagger from the sheath at his side and holds it out like he means to cut down _anyone_ he can.

“Steve!” Sam reaches out for him. He hisses in pain. Something is wrong with his arm. With his foot. Yet, Sam ignores his pain. His injuries. And keeps trying to get to Steve. “Steve! Let me see him! _Let_ me see him!”

Bucky’s sauntered over to the lever he was at before as if taking a leisurely stroll, twirling his dagger between his fingers before slipping it back into its sheath at his waist. The one for the gate. He wraps his hand around it, looking over at Sam as he pulls it.

“Be my guest, _sir_ ,” he jeers. The gate begins to rise. Just enough that Sam can slip under it. “Monsieur, I bid you _welcome_. Did you think that I would harm _him_?” Bucky gestures back towards Steve as he steps into the water and ambles towards Sam. The gate lowers again. “Why would I make _him_ pay…” The sound of the gate hitting the ground again startles Sam. Enough that he jumps and spins around. Ready for anything. Except for Bucky pulling the lever he’s ended up next to. “For the sins which are _yours_!”

Everything happens so fast. A circle of spikes rise out of the ground. Quicker than Sam can react. Trapping him in tight cage of iron that, had he been one step forward or one step back, would have impaled him. 

“Bucky!” Steve screams. “Bucky, don’t!” He runs towards them. Only stopping because Bucky yanks out a pistol Steve wasn’t even aware he had on his body and aims it right at Sam. “Bucky, _please_!” 

His pleas are ignored. Bucky keeps aiming. Shoving the barrel between the spikes until Sam’s back is pushed up against them. The gun still right in his face. 

“Order your fine horses now!” Bucky taunts. “How can you go to supper like _this_?” 

Steve races over to the levers. He tries to get the one Bucky used to move. No matter how hard he tugs and pushes and even kicks at it, it won’t budge. Steve can’t free Sam, and Bucky’s holding a gun in his face, as Sam struggles to keep from moving. One mistake could cost Sam his life. Bucky’s set the rules of the game. They have no choice but to follow them if they’re to make it through alive. 

“Nothing can save you now! Except…” Bucky turns his sights on Steve. A vulgar idea growing larger and larger in his eyes. “Except, perhaps, for Steve!” He stares at Steve, and Steve can’t begin to imagine what he has up his sleeve this time. “Start a new life with _me_ ” -- he points to himself as he crosses back towards Steve -- “Buy his freedom with your love.” No… oh, Bucky, no. _Please_ , no. “Refuse me and you send your _lover_ to his death.” He aims the gun at Sam again. “ _This_ is your choice! _This_ is the point of _no return_!”

The world bleeds over in shock and pain at Bucky’s proposal. This… this can’t be happening. His Angel of Music is the Phantom of the Opera. He’s going to kill Sam if Steve doesn’t agree to stay with him forever. Numbness creeps into Steve’s body. Leaving him with nothing. There’s nothing left for him now.

Bucky just stares at him. Knee deep in water and out of breath as he waits for Steve’s answer. Waits for him to make a choice. Stay with him so Sam can go free or leave him and let Sam die. There’s one thing Steve’s sure right now.

“I just... wanted to help you, Bucky,” he whispers. “To save you from your dark fate.” Steve’s eyes and voice get hard. His hands ball into fists as fury trembles through him. “My heart grows cold to you now. And only beats with _hate_.”

Clenching his jaw, Bucky seems to just ignore that as he heads back towards Sam.

“Steve…” Sam chokes out. “Steve, don’t listen to him.” His eyes narrow at Bucky as he approaches. “Don’t lose everything for _nothing_.”

Bucky answers the insult by shoving the barrel of the gun into Sam’s cheek. 

“Bucky!” Steve yells. “Stop it! Leave him alone!” When Bucky sneers at him, but doesn’t pull the pistol away from Sam, Steve says, “Farewell, my fallen idol and _false_ friend. We had such hopes.” He did. For so long. Steve thought he’d always have his angel of music. “Now those hopes are _shattered_!”

“It’s too late for turning back now, Steve!” Bucky pulls his arm away from Sam and faces Steve again. “Too late for prayers and useless pity!”

“Don’t do it, Steve,” Sam pleads. “My life is forfeit either way you choose. He’s made it so he has to win!”

“You’re past all points of cries for help,” Bucky growls. To Sam or Steve, Steve’s not sure. “There’s no point in fighting! For either way you choose you _cannot_ win! So do you end your days with _me_?” He points the gun back at Sam again. “Or do you send him to his _grave_?”

“Why make him live a lie just to save me?”

Bucky ignores Sam and says to Steve, “Past the point of no return…”

“Angel of Music,” Steve whispers as Sam pleads with him to just say no. “Who deserves this?”

“...the final threshold!”

“Don’t throw your life away for _my_ sake!” Sam begs.

“This is the final threshold!” Bucky reminds him.

As if Steve could somehow forget what’s on the line. Sam, his precious, wonderful Sam. Who’s been dragged down here into this horrible dungeon of nightmares. 

“Please, Bucky,” Steve whimpers. “Don’t do this.”

Bucky shakes his head and points to Sam. “His life is now the prize that you must _earn_.”

“Little Stevie,” Sam whispers. “I fought so hard to free you.”

A rush of tears hits Steve. Sam’s right. He tried so hard to just bring Steve into the daytime and this is how Steve’s repaid him. By getting him trapped here. Fighting for his life. All because Steve made the mistake of trusting the Angel of Music. Of believing his mother sent him. This shouldn’t be happening. And yet it is. Because of Bucky.

“Angel of Music…?”

Bucky doesn’t acknowledge him. He just keeps the gun aimed right at Sam and says, “You’ve past the point of no return.”

“...You deceived me.” Steve’s lip quivers. His body, heart, and soul have all run cold. There’s nothing left to warm him. “I gave you my mind blindly.”

After all the bloodshed, all the violence and anger, it’s that which makes Bucky react. He winces. Squeezes his eyes closed and scrunches his face like he’s attempting to hold back all his emotions. Bucky sucks in a rough breath and glares back at Steve.

“You try my patience.” He cocks the gun. “ _Make your choice_.”

There is no choice to be made. Steve already knew what he’d do the second the proposal was thrust upon him. He’d never sacrifice any part of Sam for himself. Never. He’ll have no regrets in leaving with Bucky so long as it means saving Sam. There’s only one regret he’ll have. One that will haunt him for all his remaining years.

“Pitiful creature of darkness,” he murmurs to Bucky. The man he only wished to save. To keep in his heart and life. “What kind of life have you known?” He starts towards Bucky. Slowly and cautiously making his way over through the cold water. “God, give me courage to show you…” Steve slips the ring back on his finger and lets his hand gently caress Bucky’s left arm. Bucky’s hand trembles as Steve touches him, watching as though blown away by the affection. “You are _not alone_.”

Cupping his hand to Bucky’s cheek, Steve presses their lips together. It’s chaste at first. Bucky just freezes. Until Steve presses a little more. When he feels Bucky begin to melt into him, Steve’s lips part. Bucky follows in suit and the kiss deepens. Steve brushes fingers through Bucky’s hair to pull him in a little closer.

And then pulls away. 

Shocked. 

Just as shocked as Bucky appears to be. The kiss had been meant to show Bucky the he wasn’t the only one in a place of darkness. To show him that he’d go with him. The kiss was to save Sam. It wasn’t… it wasn’t meant to make Steve see what he never meant to see. It wasn’t meant prove to himself one thing. But it has. And there’s no going back now. Steve can deny it no longer. 

He’s in love. Every ounce of his heart. Every bit of his soul. Every part of his body. 

Unconditionally and inescapably in love with Bucky.

An all consuming, everlasting love that has Steve pulling Bucky back into his arms so he can kiss him again. A kiss that has his life force exploding with the intensity of all the sunlight in the world. Steve cradles the back of Bucky’s head and never wants to let go. Fire ignites between them both. Devours them as their breaths are pulled from their lungs and Steve’s hands draw out Bucky’s shirt so he can reach up under it. Palms running over smooth, warm skin of Bucky’s right side, and the rough, patchy skin of his left. And Steve is so incredibly honored to do so. All Steve wants to do is feel him. Feel every inch of skin he can _while_ he can. 

It dawns on Steve, as their kiss begins to slow and unwind, that he might have forever to do that now. If he goes with Bucky. Leaves here with him like Bucky wants of him. Marries him. Becomes a part of him for all eternity. A phantom, yes. His angel of music, still. 

When their mouths slip away from each other -- just a hairsbreadth at first, with brows touching and breaths mixing -- Bucky looks upon Steve with reverence and awe. A shine in his eyes as Steve’s never seen before. Love. Bucky’s fallen to its onslaught. Perhaps there’s a chance for Steve to still save him after all. 

Bucky’s lips begin to pull up into a smile of adoration and devotion, and Steve knows then and there, that they are forever one. Loyal and true. A bond forged out of darkness, fire, and steel. And a song to be sung in the deepest of nights. But when Bucky’s hand pulls in like he means to brush his fingers along Steve’s cheek, his eyes catch sight of what he’s holding. His hand shakes. The pistol. Bucky stares at it as though he’s forgotten he had it at all. Its existence a complete mystery. Until he quickly glances over his shoulder. To Sam.

Sam. Still caged behind the spikes the could have killed him. Sam. Injured and dripping with cold, dirty water. Sam. Who has tears running down his face.

“Oh…” Bucky gasps and drops the gun. Rids himself of something he suddenly hates. It lands with a splash in the river. “What have I…” 

His face crumples as he’s overcome with heavy, ugly tears. Tears that have shivers running through his limbs and gasping for breath. Bucky falls into Steve’s arms. Face pressed into his chest and cries.

“I’m sorry…” he weeps. “I… oh, Steve… I’m so sorry…” 

Steve just holds him. Says nothing for nothing can be said. There are no words that can possibly be shared. 

_Track down this murderer. He must be found! Hunt down this animal, who runs to ground!_

Voices. Voices beginning to echo through the stone corridors. The guard coming to find Bucky. It was only a matter of time. 

Bucky jerks away. Steve reaches for him, but he pulls back. His face is still pinched but Bucky glances around and then staggers over to the levers that Steve had struggled with before. He easily pulls the right one and the spikes retreat back into the ground.

“Take him,” he demands. Voice weak and shaky. “Forget me. Forget _all_ of this.”

The second the spikes began to lower, Steve darted towards Sam. As soon as he’s able, he pulls him into his arms. Sam winces and hisses under his touch. 

“Sam…” Steve carefully slides his arm around Sam’s waist. “You’re hurt. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Sam’s breaths are shallow. Steve needs to get him out of here. He needs to see a physician. Get him warm. Put some food in his belly. Steve will take care of him. “You know…” He needs to take in a few breaths. “I came here to rescue _you_.” 

He chuckles as though he means it to be a joke, grunting a bit as well since the small laugh might be too much. Steve kisses his cheek. Then gently takes his face in his hands and kisses him. Deep and loving. All the love in the world. 

“You _did_ save me, Sam,” Steve assures him. “The second you walked into my dressing room and brought sunlight with you.” 

“Steve,” Sam leans into him. Kisses his neck, but then pulls back a bit. “I love you, Steve. But… I… I can’t stay here. I won’t make you come if you…” His eyes fall closed as though it pains him to say. “If you want to stay, I’ll… I’ll be happy that you’re happy.” 

Dizziness descends upon Steve. A horrible twirl that makes the room blur around him. They can’t stay here. But… 

“Bucky…” 

“Leave me _alone_ ,” Bucky growls through tears. Swaying as he walks back to dry land. “Forget all you’ve seen! Go now!” He glances over his shoulder. “Take the boat, swear to me _never_ to tell! The secrets you know of the _angel_ in Hell!” Those voices begin to get louder and Bucky swirls around to yell, “Go now! Go now and leave me!”

He spins again the sprints away. Disappearing around the stone corner that hides his bed.

The tears keep on coming. Bucky’s powerless to stop them. He’s never felt such a raw, powerful emotion before. It’s all he can do not to fall over as he sweeps across the lair and tries to make it to his bed. He stops just in front of it. Misses when he tries to sit on the side and, instead, lands on the floor in front of it. 

Nothing has ever hurt like this. This all encompassing pain that aches through his bones and stabs at his heart. He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand why it feels like there’s a wound upon his chest where there is none. Doesn’t understand why his body feels hollow when it works just fine. He doesn’t understand it. And it frightens him. 

Bucky pulls his knees up. Wraps his one, good arm around them and weeps. 

They’re coming. Coming for him. The sins of his haunted past, a life doused in bloodshed, coming now for retribution. One that Bucky will welcome if it means this pain will end. 

Bucky lifts his head when he hears the voices getting closer. His body shakes. He’s so… he’s so _scared_. He doesn’t want to die alone. He just wants Steve. And he can’t have him. Doesn’t deserve him. Bucky knows that. He always has. 

Eyes still filled with tears and breaths catching in his throat, Bucky glimpses over his shoulder. To his bed. Maybe… maybe he doesn’t have to die alone. He reaches up. For his teddy bear. 

Bucky holds him in his hand. His one companion, one friend, and brings his arms together to make the cymbals touch. Bucky pulls the drawstring with his teeth to listen to the soft music held inside. He can play with his friend, one last time. 

“Masquerade,” he sings quietly. Tries to smile through the tears. “Paper faces on parade…” He twirls his bear once as if in dance. A dance he’s never had the pleasure of sharing. “Masquerade…” Bucky lifts him to look into his button eyes. Eyes that cannot look back at him. “Hide your face so the world will never find you…”

Voice cracking, Bucky clutches his bear to his chest -- smothering his face into the soft fur -- and cries again. A noise to the side shoots fear through him. Bucky lifts his head and looks over. Looks at… Steve. There. Right there with him. They gaze into each other's eyes. 

And Bucky understands the ache in his bones, the stabbing in his heart and the hole in his chest. 

He shouldn’t be here. He can’t let them find him. It might impune his honor. Might endanger his life. He shouldn't be here. He needs to leave. Go and live a life with someone worthy of his love. He shouldn’t be here. He needs to forget. Forget all about Bucky. About all of this. 

And yet Bucky looks upon him and says, “Oh, Steve… I love you.”

There are tears in Steve’s eyes. His mouth opens as though he means to speak, but instead slowly approaches the spot Bucky sits on the cold, hard ground. A hesitant grin tugs at the corners of Bucky’s mouth. Just to have Steve near him again fills him with hope. But when Steve is hovered over him, he lowers his gaze to look at his hands. Bucky follows his eyes as Steve fans out the fingers of his left hand. Steve takes hold of his ring and works it off his finger. 

Bucky watches with a hard lump in his throat as Steve’s hands tremble as he reaches for Bucky’s. Letting Steve take his hand, Bucky opens it for him and Steve places his finger down in his palm. He closes Bucky’s fingers around it. Keeps it secure. Steve’s token to him. A token of love. 

A few more tears slip out of Bucky’s eyes when he squeezes them closed. Lowers his chin and just can’t bear to watch Steve leave again. 

Only… he doesn’t. Steve doesn’t leave. He seems to try to. Even takes a step back in the direction that will lead him away from Bucky forever. But he doesn’t go. Instead, he crouches down next to him. Steve clutches at Bucky’s hand. Brings it to his chest and holds it close. 

“I know I cannot stay,” he whispers. “But I don’t know how to leave.”

Bucky’s lips tremble. He can tell Steve to stay with him. Offer him a world that Steve has never imagined. But it’s not a world Steve is meant for. He deserves better. And, for once, Bucky is going to love him the way he always should have.

“You must. You cannot stay here.” Moving closer, Steve whimpers and shakes his lowered head. Shakes his head like he’s pleading with Bucky to let him stay there. Oh, how Bucky wishes he could. “You called me your angel of music,” Bucky whispers. “I should have told you, every day, I was never your angel…” Steve peers up at him. “You were mine.”

That makes Steve’s face crumple and he throws himself at Bucky. Wraps Bucky in his arms like he wishes to shield him for the horrors that await him. Horrors he deserves. 

“Come with us,” he begs. “Please. We’ll get a place in the countryside. No one has to know you’re there.”

Bucky closes his eyes and pretends for one beat of his heart that such a thing is possible. But it’s not. He knows it. So does Steve.

“And trade one prison for a nicer one?” he murmurs.

“No,” His voice cracks. Steve buries his tears into Bucky’s left shoulder. Like it’s no different than his right. Bucky puts his arm around him. “It… it wouldn’t… Bucky, please, don’t make me leave. I can’t leave you. I don’t know how to live without you.”

“You’ll learn,” Bucky whispers. “Let him teach you.”

Every answer Bucky gives makes Steve cry harder. “I can’t leave you, Bucky. I won’t.”

He won’t. Bucky sees that now. This is all Bucky’s fault. He’s bewitched Steve. He needs to break the spell. He knows what he has to do. 

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs. “Help me up, Steve.”

Steve does. Just like Bucky knew he would. Steve stands with a look of hope on his face and it breaks Bucky’s heart. Bucky leans in and Steve meets his lips. Sealing love with a kiss. 

“Will you put it on for me?” Bucky whispers. Opens his hand so that Steve can take the ring and do so. Bucky can keep this one thing. This one piece of Steve. Once the ring is on his finger, Bucky circles around him. Stands behind him and has Steve lean his head back on his shoulder. “Close your eyes, Steve.” 

Steve does. Does as he’s done before while Bucky gently glides his hand across his face and down his neck and along his chest. And Bucky sings to him. One last lullaby to mend a broken heart. 

“Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime.” 

Steve trembles against him. Feels those tears begin to fade away as Bucky recites the words of love he confessed to him on stage. “Lead me, save me from my solitude.” Steve kisses his hand as it passes across his lips. He feels himself begin to drift away under Bucky’s hypnotic touch. And this time, he welcomes it as Bucky’s hand caresses his neck, his throat, his collar, his cheeks. “Say you need me with you now and always.” Bucky puts a step between them. Lets his hand graze the back of Steve’s head, petting softly over his hair. “Anywhere you go let me go to.” He presses a kiss there. “ Love me… that’s all I ask of you.”

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve’s shaky voice whispers. “I love you…” A smile touches his lips as he waits for Bucky’s response. “B-Bucky?” 

Steve’s eyes fly open when he receives no answer. He spins around. Once. Twice. His heart slams painfully against his chest. No. No, no, _no_!

“Bucky!” Steve yells into the vast emptiness around him. Yells his name though there’s no one there to answer to it. “No! No, Bucky, no! Don’t do this!” His voice is saturated with desperation. “Come back! Bucky, _please_ , come back! Don’t leave me! Please, don’t leave me!”

The hand upon his shoulder has Steve twirling around. It’s Sam. Sweet, wonderful Sam there to take Steve away from this place that holds nothing for him. 

“Steve,” Sam murmurs. “We have to go.” 

“But… Sam… he…” Steve doesn’t know what to say. Or how to say it. “I… I… love him.” 

“I know. I know you do. It’s okay. But he wanted you to leave this place behind. If you love him, honor that.” 

Another tremble rocks through Steve and Sam pulls him into his arms. He holds him close. Even though Steve’s confessed to also loving another. 

“I love you so much,” Steve whispers. “Can you ever forgive me, Sam?” 

Kissing the side of Steve head, Sam says, “There is nothing to forgive, Little Stevie.” When Steve doesn’t answer that -- unable to, for why should he have such forgiveness so easily? -- Sam brushes fingers through his hair and whispers, “Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude.” Steve gazes at him. There will always be a beat in his heart for Bucky. One that belongs solely to him. But Sam is right. Steve needs to leave. And if Sam will still have him, Steve will be honored to spend the rest of his life loving him. “Say you need me with you here, beside you…”

“Anywhere you go let me go, too…” Steve whispers.

A smile touches Sam’s face. He takes hold of Steve’s hands and begins to lead him to the boat. The boat waiting patiently to take them out of there. Onward to the life meant for them. Filled with love and warmth and daylight. They lean against each other. Sam because he’s injured. Steve because he’s hurting. Both because they’re in love. 

“Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime,” Steve sings to Sam. 

And Sam, off-key and out of tune, sings back, “Say the word and I will follow you.”

He makes Steve crack a smile and rest his head upon his shoulder as Steve pushes the pole to glide the boat through the river. Steve glances behind him. Takes one last look before leaving forever. Sings once more. One more time, for his Angel of Music. 

“Share each day with me, each night and morning.”

From within the shadows of where he’s hidden -- in the place he’s always been told he belonged -- Bucky watches as the boat drifts further and further away. 

“You alone can make my song take flight,” he sings softly. Stepping out once the boat has disappeared around the corner. Taking Steve away. Away from here. Away from him. Forever. “It’s over now… the music… _of the night_!”

Bucky grabs a silver candle holder and marches over to the mirror Steve stood him in front of. Showed Bucky that he had no fear of his form. Of the curse that not even Bucky’s own mother could bear to stomach. The guards are still coming. Still hunting him. Bucky slams the candle holder into the glass. Smashes it to pieces. And as it shatters, as the pieces fall to the ground in cold, reflective shards, a doorway appears behind it. Another way out. 

Dropping the holder onto the pile of glass, Bucky reaches down to pick up his cloak so he can throw it over himself again. Right before his hand would close around it, Bucky’s eyes land upon the ring on his finger. Steve’s ring. Bucky curls his fingers in. Steve loves him. With or without the cloak. Maybe Bucky can learn to as well. Pulling a rope that draws a curtain closed behind him, he heads into the corridor.

Bucky steps out into the world. Ring on his finger. Without his cloak. All alone.

Alone. 

And loved. 

***

****

**Paris, 1919**

_The cool winds of autumn gently roll across the cemetery. Another season ending. Another year drawing to a close. Another year without Steve._

_Sam still misses him. Every waking morning. Every resting night. After one love, one lifetime, each day, each night, each morning -- more than three decades together -- Sam still wishes he had more time to have spent with him. But two years ago the winter took him. One peaceful night. And Steve no longer had any music left to sing._

_Sam’s old bones rattle a bit as he makes his way through the fields of monumental angels and stone markers. Where the ground will soon be lined with intricate lines of frost as it waits for spring to come again. For the warm rays of sun to bring with it new life. Steve had been able to beat him in their footraces. Sam smiles at the memory, and needs a moment to rest before continuing._

_His valet and nurse always object, but Sam always makes this trip alone. To visit his Little Stevie. Especially this visit._

_The old teddy bear waits patiently in Sam’s hands as he trudges on. Slowly getting to where his love lay resting within the earth. The stone is beautiful. Sam made sure of it. There are flowers and vines carved into it. Steve’s title carved into it on the bottom._

_****_

_**Count Rogers-Wislon**_

 __ _**

Beloved Husband and Father

**_ _**

Friend

**_ _His given name and dates of life up higher._

_****_

_**Steve**_

_**

1854 - 1917

**_

_With a medallion holding a photograph of Steve’s smiling face between them both so that Sam may always look upon it when he comes._

_“He always loved you,” Sam whispers to the bear. To the bear with the hopes of delivering the message to someone else. “We shared a lifetime of happiness. Years filled with love. But there was always a place in his heart that I was not permitted. One song I could not hear.” He pets a hand over the bear’s head. “That was for you. Only for you.” Sam glances up at the image of Steve. Then looks back at the bear again. “He wanted you to find happiness, and for that reason, I hope you did.”_

_Sam leans down and swipes away some of the dead leaves that sit upon the stone’s base. Once a spot is cleared, Sam gently places the teddy bear down, offering a silent prayer that wherever Steve is, he knows he’s done this for him. Brought a small piece of his Angel of Music to rest with him._

_With a resigned sigh, Sam straightens back up. He gazes longingly at the stone again. At Steve’s photograph. There’s nothing more to do here. This visit was not for him. It was for Steve and his Bucky._

_Sam turns to leave, but something catches his eye. Something at the corner of the base of Steve’s stone. He stares at it before glancing around the cemetery and seeing only stones and monuments. A haunting feeling that never truly left descends over him. He’s sure that Steve always felt it, too. Always. Contented by its presence._

_It’s here now._

_Still._

_As Sam looks back at the single red rose. Black ribbon tied around it blowing gently in the wind._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, thank you for reading! I know this was silly and campy, but it was fun and if you liked it feel free to share or to check out any of my other pieces. 
> 
> Also have the song list for Act II
> 
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> [Masquerade](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Bn4BAlp8NQ)
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> [Why So Silent?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nV9btirpgdY)
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> [Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTCUCAbIu58)
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>  
> 
> [Wandering Child](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qWJGOl3bMyY)
> 
>  
> 
> [Notes/Twisted Every Way](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z4lbC7jfF6Y)
> 
>  
> 
> [Seal My Fate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ts-KxzwL-O8)
> 
>  
> 
> [Don Juan Triumphant](http://www.travel-explorer.com/rob-roy-glacier-in-new-zealand/)
> 
>  
> 
> [Past the Point of No Return](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TFZrM38mf7Y)
> 
>  
> 
> [Point of No Return Continued](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5wO5UoEgnw)
> 
>  
> 
> [Down Once More/Track Down this Murderer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EOc8V14vtBg)
> 
>  
> 
> [My Dear I think We Have a Guest](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXkEAQKNj0k)
> 
>  
> 
> [Point of No Return Reprise](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QD91ZVDa8Ms)
> 
>  
> 
> [The Final Lair](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TguKLHQxmmY)
> 
>  
> 
> [Final Scene](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MqpQCjd-NKQ/) ((this isn't a song, just the final scene from the movie))
> 
> [Learn to be Lonely](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CnlQ8KA-kkU)((the song isn't part of the play. It was written for the movie and it's simply beautiful))
> 
> so again! thank you so much for reading! Come give me a holler on Tumblr! [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](http://thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com/) A place for all things marvel, stucky, mcu actors and lots of laughs!

**Author's Note:**

> omg I know I'm a total loser. I'm sorry for this ridiculousness. But have the song list for Act I!
> 
> [Think Of Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7spNxXhnno) ((this is the song that Steve sings for Tony and Rhodey, but I didn't write that one out lol))
> 
> [Angel of Music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5ou3gZg0sE)
> 
> [Phantom of the Opera](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JaeBxYCI9k)
> 
>  
> 
> [Music of the Night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJHMMrVgd-I)
> 
>  
> 
> [I Remember/Stranger Than You Dreamt It](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Fg6HpAB0xM)
> 
>  
> 
> [Notes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4e3fCf-kLCo)
> 
>  
> 
> [Why Have You Brought Me Here?/I've Seen Him](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-8Quz5x7PVE)
> 
>  
> 
> [All I Ask of You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zy1lWiHHHFY)
> 
>  
> 
> [No One Would Listen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dfZnIGETQPQ) ((okay this is not in the play, and it didn't make it into the final cut of the 2004 film, but I think it's beautiful and conveys so much of how the Phantom feels about Christine -- or in this case, Steve -- so I really wanted to include it and since I'm not sure where it would have gone in the movie, I fit it in here lol))
> 
>  
> 
> [All I Ask of You ((Reprise))](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cstkOZXuVuo)
> 
>  
> 
> Okay sooo that's it! I'll be posting Act II ((that's if anyone is actually interested lol)) asap! 
> 
> Also feel free to come follow me on tumblr! [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com). A place for marvel trash, stucky, and random junk!


End file.
